Heart of Stone
by Louise Hargadon
Summary: Sequel to Heart of Gold. Season 7 AU. The promise of a mysterious package arriving for him on the Boston train finally gives Preston a reason to hope that his financial life will improve once more. When it arrives, he realises that nothing about any aspect of his life will ever be the same again. Preston/OC.
1. Prologue

_**A/N:** I had decided pretty soon after the end of _**Heart of Gold**_ that there would be a sequel. I just didn't expect it to take so long to get round to writing it! The exact story didn't quite come to me properly until recently. The DQMW writers' plans for Preston in the never-to-be-realised Season Seven frankly proved far too tempting an idea for me to leave alone!_

_I know it's an unpopular opinion, but I do genuinely believe that Preston's character was far more delicately nuanced and three-dimensional than just the pantomime villain caricature he portrayed to the town. We never really got to see him in his quiet, alone moments where he didn't feel the need to be 'Preston A Lodge III' and could just be himself, which was a shame. There seemed to be so much more to him than met the eye, it would have been wonderful to have had the opportunity to scrape under the surface with him a little._

_**Disclaimer:** _**Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman**_ and all her pals were created by **Beth Sullivan**. Apparently, it turns out that Colorado Springs is a genuine, real live place, though. I only own my OC, any other incidental characters I may need to bring in during the course of the story, and an unashamed love of a certain sharp-suited, twinkly-eyed banker with floppy hair and a disarming smile...!_

**Heart of Stone**

**Prologue**

_April 14, 1875_

_Preston_

_I trust this letter finds you in good health. After some consideration and discussion, it has been decided that you need some stability in your life. Consequently, a package will be arriving for you on the Boston train on Friday afternoon. See that you handle it with care. Your mother sends her regards._

_Your Father_

Preston rarely received any correspondence from his father. Since the Crisis a couple of years earlier, there had been very little for them to discuss. He had never been in his father's good graces to begin with, and the Crisis had destroyed any small shred of paternal emotion that may have remained. Perhaps that was the reason he had read and re-read the letter countless times since he had received it almost a week earlier – it had been the first civil contact his father had made with him in years. It was now Friday morning and the package, whatever it was, was probably heading over to Colorado Springs at that very moment.

A package? For him? From his father? Why? What could his father possibly send him that would add any form of stability to his life? Money? Bonds? A plethora of questions raced around his brain so quickly that he could barely focus on one of them long enough to think it through properly.

The frown-lines on Preston's forehead had deepened over the past two years. Sleepless nights coupled with long, laborious days of hard work for little recompense had taken their toll on his once handsome features. Dark circles had settled under his eyes, stress and exhaustion had destroyed his appetite, leaving him looking pale and gaunt. He rarely smiled, as he had little cause for mirth. There were no friends, there had never been any real friends for him in Colorado Springs. There was no joy, there was nothing to alleviate the worry and turmoil that had become his life. There was only his grim determination to not go under, coupled with a stubborn need to show the townsfolk – whom he swore he had no feelings for, either good or bad, as they mattered so little to him – that he was made of sterner mettle than they imagined.

Perhaps, he had often thought, his current plight was no more than he deserved. In his quest to become rich, to procure power for himself and in the hope of leading Colorado Springs to the future of civilisation, he had lost sight of who he really was. He had led a very lonely existence since arriving in Colorado Springs and, despite the heavy workload he had placed himself under, both before and after the Crisis, there was only ever silence and exhaustion to comfort him at the end of his day. The old idiom about only getting one chance to make a first impression had proved absolutely true in Preston's case. Everyone's opinion of him was formed, fixed and sealed when he made the decision to cut down the Kissing Tree – and inadvertently injure both himself and Matthew Cooper in the process. There had never been anything he could do after that to change people's minds about him and, after coming to that realisation, he had learned very quickly that it was infinitely more fun to antagonise them than to pander to them.

There had been small and occasional opportunities for him to build lasting friendships with certain members of the townsfolk, especially Andrew. There were nights, there were days in which he missed Andrew terribly. Andrew always seemed to know just what to say to Preston. Even if Preston hadn't wanted to hear it, the way Andrew presented ideas and problems to him were always done in just the right way. Andrew understood him far better than anyone else in Colorado Springs had ever done. It had always been a pleasure when he had allowed Andrew to get the best of him in a difference of opinion. He had been the only person Preston had actually cared about in Colorado Springs. Now Andrew and his wife were both living in Pennsylvania and Preston only saw him from afar on the odd occasions they came to visit Colleen's family. Preston knew he only had himself to blame for the deterioration of that friendship. He often longed for a way to patch things up between them, but he supposed that the opportunity would never arise.

He traced his fingertips over the writing on the letter from his father. The tone of the letter was as cold and unfeeling as anything from his father would ever sound, yet it had been the only thing that had given him any hope over the preceding few months. He even dared to hope for one silly, frivolous moment, that the 'package' would be his mother. Just the thought of her would make him feel better – the way she would stroke his hair and smile at him, the way that even though he was a clear twelve inches taller than her, her arms still managed to be long enough for her to completely wrap him in a warm embrace the way she used to do when he was a small boy. Her gentle, kind voice that warmed his heart and poured calming oil onto his troubled soul. Yes, a visit from his mother would be just the medicine he needed.

Dusting down his favourite, but now faded and slightly frayed burgundy-coloured suit and wide-brimmed hat, he got ready to meet the train. If he was going to collect anything to help him in a business-related capacity, he had to dress appropriately.

"Clothes maketh man, after all," he muttered to himself as he fastened his tie in the mirror. He checked that he hadn't nicked himself while he was shaving and that his sideburns matched, then forced a smile for the mirror. He looked older and more tired, but he was still Preston Lodge. The Third. There was still a sharp twinkle lurking in the corner of his eye, it had just been too long since anyone had seen it.

He waited quietly at the platform, his expression stern and fixed, only nodding to those who made eye contact with him. He was no longer the town peacock, strutting and parading along the streets in all his finery as though he owned the place. If that had ever truly been his ambition, it had been shattered long ago. His stomach lurched as he saw the train on the horizon, slowly and purposefully steaming towards the town, bringing something of significance to Preston's future with him. Whatever was on that train, he knew that nothing would ever be the same again from that moment onward. It was a glorious thought, as the last two years had been tremendously difficult for him, emotionally as well as financially. Anything that would change his current pitiful existence for the better was to be welcomed eagerly, as far as he was concerned.

The train eventually ground to a halt at the station and Preston continued to wait patiently until the passengers had alighted and the parcels were moved to the telegraph office. When the initial furore of the train's arrival had subsided, Preston made his way to the office.

"Horace, is there a parcel for me?" he called out.

"Nothin's arrived for you, Preston," Horace answered, his tone as curt and unhelpful as it ever was where Preston was concerned. Preston frowned.

"My father specifically wrote me to say he was sending me a package on the Friday afternoon train from Boston," he said, waving his letter in front of Horace's face.

"I can't help what your father wrote. There's nothin' for you here. You understand?" Horace retorted. Preston rolled his eyes. He knew exactly what Horace meant, the entire town had tried in their own unsubtle ways to get him to pack up and leave Colorado Springs for good, especially over the last two years. They should have known him well enough to realise that their disdain only fuelled his stubborn desire to stay exactly where he was.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a Mr Lodge," a voice from behind Preston said. He felt a gentle tap on his right shoulder blade and turned around. Before him stood a young woman in her late twenties. She had blonde hair, bright, intelligent blue eyes and a mischievous smile. A natural smile spread across his face for the first time in far too long as he met her expectant gaze.

"You've found him," he said, offering her his hand which she shook cordially. "Are you the courier my father sent?" he asked, hopefully.

"Courier?" she repeated, frowning slightly in confusion. "I'm afraid I don't understand." Preston handed the letter to the woman and she scanned the contents briefly. She raised an eyebrow and let out a murmur of derision as she looked back up at him. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding, Mr Lodge."

"A misunderstanding?"

"Yes. You see, I'm not a courier. For want of a better term – and I can assure you that there are far better terms that could have been used in this particular instance – it would appear that I am the package that your father sent," she said. Preston's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"You?" he asked. She raised he eyebrows briefly and inclined her head slightly. "Well, I must admit I'm not displeased with the wrapping!" he said, a wolfish grin pervading his entire face as he spoke. She flushed bright pink as she smiled shyly and looked at the ground but didn't reply. "Why has my father sent you to me?"

"This is putting me in a very awkward position. I was under the impression that you knew exactly what the arrangement was," she said. Preston looked at her blankly.

"I don't know about any arrangement. This is the first correspondence my father has sent to me in almost eighteen months," he said. She sighed and shook her head.

"There really isn't a more delicate way for me to put this, Mr Lodge – but your father has corresponded with me for many months now, and has asked me to come out to Colorado Springs as, well," she broke off, searching frantically for an appropriate term to use.

"As what? As my housekeeper? I'm afraid I don't have much of a house to keep," he said. She shook her head again.

"Not as your housekeeper, something a little more intimate than that," she said. Preston took a step back and looked at her curiously.

Her next sentence came so far out of left field that Preston didn't even know how to react to it.

"Your father has asked me to come to Colorado Springs to be your wife."


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Preston's jaw dropped and Horace's eyes nearly bulged right out of his head as he couldn't help but overhear the young woman's words - mostly because he was eavesdropping rather spectacularly.

"My... my what?" Preston stammered, suddenly feeling a strange mixture of nausea and bemusement. Horace leaned right over the counter so as to listen in to their conversation better. Preston caught his eye and, without waiting for the woman to offer any further explanation, he offered her his arm. "I think we need to discuss this a little more privately, don't you?" he suggested with a friendly smile. She nodded as she took his arm and he walked away from the station, neither noticing nor caring about the disappointed expression on Horace's face.

"I'm afraid I could have started our acquaintance off slightly less dramatically," she said after a rather uncomfortable silence. Preston let out a breath of laughter and nodded in agreement.

"I would have to agree with you there!" he said, offering her a reassuring smile. "I... uhm... I'm afraid that in the excitement of all that bombshell-dropping, I forgot to ask you your name."

"Rosalind Brown," she answered. "I prefer plain old Rosie, though. It's a bit strange having such an ugly last name to go with a fancy first name. I've always hated it."

"Not at all, it's a very pretty name. But I think I prefer Rosie, too," he agreed. "Or would you prefer Miss Brown?" he asked.

"Rosie is fine, but, uh... Actually, it's Mrs Brown," she answered. He frowned slightly in confusion. "I'm a widow, Mr Lodge. My husband went to war a year after we were married and never came home."

"I'm... I'm genuinely sorry for your loss," Preston said truthfully, his eyes softening with empathy as he absently squeezed her wrist with his free hand.

"Thank you, but it's fine" she answered. "It was a long time ago, now. Another lifetime ago."

"It may have been a long time ago but I - I imagine that it still hurts. Sometimes when you least expect it to," he said. She looked up at him curiously.

"Yes, that's exactly right!" she said. She clamped her lips together nervously, weighing up whether or not it would be appropriate to say her next sentence, and deciding to say it anyway. "You sound as though you know a little of what that feels like," she added, gently.

He paused for a moment, unsure as how best to answer her. Grief, loss, pain, heartbreak - these were all so familiar to Preston that his pain had become the only way he knew he was still living, or at least, that he was still existing. Yes, he knew something of how Rosie felt. However, he didn't know her well enough to let her know anything of that part of his life. He didn't know anyone well enough to tell them about that part of his life. Instead, he chose to change the subject altogether.

"You must be a little hungry after your trip, how about some lunch?" he suggested. She frowned in response.

"It's four in the afternoon," she said. He smiled slowly at her.

"An early supper, then," he suggested, his eyes twinkling. She nodded her agreement and soon they found themselves in Grace's café. "We seem to have a lot of things to work out between ourselves, Rosie," he said, pulling back her chair and indicating for her to sit down. He had carefully seated them at the far corner of the café so that they would have longer to speak to each other before Grace came to ask them for their order. "I must say I wasn't sure what to expect to arrive on the train this afternoon, but you? This scenario? This didn't even enter into my head!"

"This is quite embarrassing. I wouldn't have come to Colorado Springs if I'd thought there was going to be a problem," she said.

"You think turning up in town and declaring our engagement to the whole town wouldn't have presented a problem?" Preston asked, his left eyebrow arched and the corners of his mouth curled into an amused grin.

"It was hardly the whole town!"

"It was Horace, that's the next best thing," Preston answered, dryly. She let out a chuckle of understanding and looked at him apologetically. "Don't worry, they were bound to find out sometime. I'm sure it's cheaper than taking out an advertisement in the Gazette."

"I was under the impression that the news wasn't exactly news to you," she said. "Your father led me to believe he was in constant correspondence with you and that you had arranged everything over here to accommodate me."

"My father arranged all of this?"

"He was the one who placed the advert, he made it clear he was advertising on behalf of his son. I was under the impression that you were too shy or too ashamed to place the advert yourself."

"Me? Shy?" Preston asked, a little taken aback. "I don't think that's a word that's been used about me since I was a boy!"

"Mr Lodge," Rosie began, looking a little agitated. He shook his head.

"That's my father. I'm just Preston," he corrected her. She smiled briefly.

"Preston, I was told that my accommodation and employment would be arranged for me. I have nowhere to go. I can't go back to Boston because that's not my home either," she said. "I can't help but feel a little worried."

"Well, I'm sure if you're willing to work then someone in the town will help you to find something. I don't know how much I can help you myself, but there's one thing I need to make quite clear from the start," he said, his tone a little guilty. She tilted her head slightly to one side as she looked at him.

"What is it?" she asked. Preston took a deep breath before he spoke to her.

"I can't marry you, Rosie," he told her, gently. She looked puzzled. "I'm sorry, but... I don't know you. You don't know me. Three years ago it might have been different, at least I had the resources to make sure you'd at least be well cared for. Now I can barely afford to provide for myself, let alone a wife." Rosie's frown deepened.

"I didn't come here with the intention of marrying you today. I'm not a child. I know how courtship works. I don't expect you to provide for me either, I'm more than capable of providing for myself," she said, more than slightly offended. He shook his head and reached across the table to squeeze her arm.

"That's as may be, but even we were to start any kind of courtship, I need to warn you now that it won't be easy for either of us. I can tell you now that if you spoke about me to anyone in this town, not one of them would have a good word to say about me."

"Why not?"

"Because... Because I'm not a good man," he said, looking up at her, his lips pinched together defiantly. His eyes flickered after a few moments and he looked away from her. "I wouldn't make a very good husband. I have a habit of spoiling things. Relationships, jobs, people's lives. I'm sure that's not what you'd want for yourself."

"That's quite a show of modesty from a bad man," she said, raising an eyebrow. He nodded his head slightly but refused to look up.

"If you hear an opinion repeated often enough, eventually it becomes a fact," he answered, quietly. After a moment's pause, he looked back up at her. "I don't understand why my parents were so insistent on you coming here. There's nothing I can offer you. You're probably best off going back home."

"I already told you. I don't have a home," she said. "I tend not to care a great deal about other people's opinions. There was a new life waiting for me here, and I came here. That's all that matters. All I need right now is a decent meal. Do you think you can stretch to that?" she asked, her eyes glinting slightly. Preston couldn't help but smile.

"I'll see what I can do," he answered with a wink. She giggled as she hunched her shoulders up gleefully. "I must say it's nice to have someone smile at me. I'm not used to that," he admitted, and Rosie could have sworn that the tips of his ears turned slightly pink as he spoke. His words somehow caused a heavy, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was no stranger to loneliness, but living in a growing town and never being smiled at by another person was a kind of loneliness she never wanted to experience. If she had to define her feelings towards Preston at that moment, the only word she could think of would be 'pity'. She had no idea what terrible things he could have done to invoke the entire town's displeasure, but there was something about him that seemed insecure, vulnerable and - if she wasn't mistaken, genuinely likable. Perhaps she didn't know him well enough yet to make that judgement, or perhaps he just needed a chance to be something more than the town villain.

Whatever the truth was about the man sat in front of her, all Rosie knew for an absolute certainty at that moment was that she was famished and exhausted after her journey. A decent meal and a good night's sleep were just what she needed.

From the other side of the café, Preston and Rosie's presence had already generated quite a degree of interest from a small group of the local townspeople, who were all staring at their interaction with great interest. It was the first time in over a year that Preston had even gone to eat at Grace's, causing some in the town to speculate that he had left Colorado Springs for Boston. Of course, nobody could deny how hard he had worked to earn a living, taking on labour-intensive manual jobs that weren't especially suited to him but did promise to pay his bills. He had become a quieter Preston, a more introverted Preston - but still one who had caused too much trouble amongst the townsfolk for him to be trusted.

"Did Preston ever say anything about a sister?" Grace asked. Michaela shook her head.

"He's the youngest of five, all boys," she reminded her. "No mention of a sister."

"You don't think he's got a woman in his life, do you?" Dorothy asked, almost feeling a little scandalised.

"A woman? Preston?" Loren said with a snort of derision. "She'd have to be half-out of her mind!"

"I don't know, look at the way she looks at him when she laughs!" Grace exclaimed, pointing. "Look at his face when he looks at her!" she added, excitedly. Michaela and Dorothy slowly looked up at her, bewildered. Grace caught their eye and cleared her throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. "What? She seems nice, that's all."

"You can't tell that she's nice from over here," Dorothy said. Loren added a mumble of agreement and Michaela looked up at Grace, an impish smile playing on her lips as she waited expectantly for her to do something. Grace looked down at Michaela and nodded decisively.

"She sure does look hungry," she agreed. "I'd best go take her order." Michaela couldn't help but chuckle to herself at Grace's eagerness to introduce herself to the woman.

Alice, Grace's two-year-old daughter, had learned to walk at a much younger age than expected and had toddled around the café ever since, following her mother more closely than her own shadow. As they approached the table, Preston and Rosie couldn't help but notice Alice's ice-melting grin, just like her mother's, spreading from ear to ear.

"Well, hello, little princess!" Rosie began, smiling kindly at Alice. Alice suddenly became bashful and hid behind Grace's skirts. "She's beautiful, ma'am," she said, looking up at Grace. Grace beamed at her.

"Why, thank you. Can I get you anything to eat?" she asked. Rosie looked at Preston questioningly and Preston realised that he hadn't introduced either of them yet.

"I'm sorry, how rude of me. Rosie, this is Grace, the owner of this establishment. Grace, this is Rosie, my... umm...," he paused for a moment, trying to think of a suitable term for Rosie. "My associate," he finished. Rosie's eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, your associate!" Grace replied with a knowing smile. Rosie stared at Preston, baffled.

"That's right, my - my business associate, she arrived on the Boston train earlier this afternoon," he answered. Rosie blinked three times before looking back up at Grace.

"Business associate. That's right," she heard herself say, although her face gave away the fact she had no idea what Preston was talking about.

"You're from Boston too?" Grace asked. Rosie shook her head.

"No, ma'am, I'm from Philadelphia. I only travelled from Boston because I was staying with Preston's parents before I came to Colorado Springs," she explained. Grace and Preston both looked a little surprised by her revelation.

"You were staying with his parents?" Grace repeated, unable to contain her giggles. Preston's face fell in horror.

"Family business," Rosie answered, trying to help but clearly only making matters worse. Preston could practically hear the gossip already.

"I'm sure it is," Grace said, meaningfully. "Well, whatever 'business venture' you two are discussin', you're gonna need somethin' to eat, am I right?" she asked, emphasising the phrase 'business venture' sarcastically. Preston looked for all the world as though he wished the earth would open and swallow him whole.

Alice had now found a little courage to venture out from behind her mother's skirts and she headed straight for Preston. She rested her hands on his knee and looked up at him.

"Hello, there," he said, smiling at her. "My, you're certainly growing up fast! Are you going to take my order?" he asked. Alice grinned at him and he didn't even care how stupid he looked as his smile overtook his entire face. Not even he was immune to Alice's all-encompassing cuteness. Grace shook her head and chuckled.

"It's been a long time since we saw you in town, Preston," she said. "We thought you'd left town."

"Thought or hoped?" Preston asked, a little too sharply. He instantly regretted his words and his shoulders dropped. "I've been busy," he said. "I see business is doing well for you," he added, looking around the busy café. Grace nodded.

"That it is. It seems little Alice is quite the draw for folks. Even old customers seem to be comin' back," she answered.

"I can see why!" he said, absentmindedly ruffling Alice's hair with his fingertips. Alice rested her head on his knee and closed her eyes contentedly.

"I had no idea you were so good with children, Preston," Grace said, looking pointedly at Rosie. Preston blushed.

"I'm not," he answered, gruffly, quickly moving his hand back to the table and straightening in his seat. Grace and Rosie shared a knowing look and a grin before Preston changed the subject altogether and ordered their meal. After silently watching Grace and Alice walk back towards the kitchen, Rosie turned back to Preston.

"She seems very warm and welcoming," she said. Preston nodded. "And I couldn't help but notice that she didn't seem to show any signs of hostility towards you, either."

"Grace is a sharp businesswoman and a very hard worker, she's not likely to turn away a paying customer just because she doesn't like them," he answered. "Besides, she only wanted to know who you were and what you were doing here," he added. She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yes, that's right, I'm your business associate now, am I?" she asked. "Well, I did say I needed a job!" she added. "What business do we do?" He closed his eyes and visibly cringed.

"I didn't know what else to say!" he admitted.

"You do know that lying isn't a very good quality, don't you?" she asked. He looked at her. She was obviously teasing him and he couldn't help the impish smirk that flooded his features for a brief moment.

"I have a lot of bad qualities, I'm afraid. Making ill-advised business dealings is one of them," he said. She leaned closer to him with a conspiratorial look on her face.

"You seem very keen to tell me about all of your bad qualities, Preston. Haven't you got any redeeming features at all?" she asked.

"Just my dashing good looks and excellent taste in hats, I'm afraid," he answered, dryly. She let out a shout of laughter before taking a long look at him.

"I suppose that's a start," she said.

They ate in a slightly awkward silence, both so full of questions for the other that they were too embarrassed to ask. They caught each other's eye during the meal once or twice and smiled politely, but aside from remarking on how tasty the meal was, neither of them could pluck up the courage to say anything more constructive than that. Preston wasn't especially used to company any more, and certainly not the company of women - if he was honest, most of the time he genuinely forgot that he was supposed to make conversation.

Eventually, after Grace had cleared their plates away and wished Rosie a pleasant stay in Colorado Springs, Preston stood and helped Rosie out of her chair.

"Rosie?" he asked. She looked at him. "Why did you come to Colorado Springs?" he asked.

"You know why."

"No. I don't. Nobody leaves an entire life behind for the possibility of a life with someone they've had absolutely no interaction with whatsoever," he said. "What do you want from this place?"

Rosie bit her lower lip and didn't reply for a few moments as she collected her thoughts together.

"I want to start again," she said, at last. "I want to be just me, and not George Brown's widow. I'm thirty-one years old and I've been made to feel like an old woman for the last eleven years since he died. It was only George that died, but I feel as though I lost my soul too. I'm tired of that. I want to live again. Before it really is too late." Preston didn't answer at first, and she touched his arm. "Haven't you ever felt that way?" she asked. He nodded, so overwhelmed by the memories that flooded his brain that he could barely retain his composure well enough to speak.

"Yes," he answered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Yes I have."

"What did you do?" she asked. He clamped his lips together and drew in a deep breath before looking back at her.

"I guess I... I ran away. Tried to forget."

"Did it help?"

Preston shook his head. "No," he said, staring firmly at the floor. Rosie bit her lip again as she looked sadly at Preston's forlorn face.

"Then perhaps... perhaps it's time we both made a fresh start?" she suggested. He shook his head.

"I don't know how to do that," he admitted. Rosie smiled ruefully.

"Then maybe we can find out together," she said, squeezing his arm again.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

By the time Preston and Rosie had finished taking a leisurely stroll around town so that Rosie could familiarise herself with the local geography, they realised that it was after nine o'clock at night. They hurriedly attempted to find Rosie a room at the Resort. Preston hadn't been there very often since he sold it to Michaela and Sully, but there wasn't a day that went by without him thinking of it. All of his plans and actions since he had sold it revolved around ways to raise the funds to buy the hotel back. Going back there felt very much as though he was seeing a former lover with a new partner, and it made him feel very uncomfortable. Unfortunately for Rosie, there was no room at the Resort - which necessitated a trip back into town in order to attempt to secure lodgings at The Gold Nugget, but, to Rosie and Preston's equal bemusement, there were no vacancies there, either. There seemed to be only one logical solution to the pressing accommodation issue, and so Preston took Rosie back to his own home.

"Are you sure I can stay here?"

Rosie's tone was a little doubtful as she looked around the front parlour curiously. Preston responded with a careless shrug.

"I don't see why not," he answered. "It's only for one night."

"The man at the hotel said there'd be no rooms for at least a week," she reminded him. Preston was unfazed.

"It doesn't matter. I work away a lot, and even when I work close by the hours are long, so I don't spend much time here. You'll have the place to yourself. Besides, it might be nice to come home to a light in the window for a change," he added, a little shyly.

"But... isn't it a little... I mean... aren't you worried how it will look if I move in here?" she asked. Preston let out a snort of derision.

"Oh, I'm sure the townsfolk will have plenty to say either way. If you stay here they'll be sure that something unholy is going on between us. If you don't stay here then I'll be the heartless excuse for a man that let a defenceless woman sleep on the streets," he said. Rosie chuckled.

"I'm sure they're not as bad as all that," she answered.

"Perhaps I just find it safest to presume the worst of them, as they do of me," he answered. She shook her head.

"We really need to do something about that almighty chip on your shoulder, Preston," she said, bluntly. His eyes widened. "You know it's there, don't you?" she asked, before he had chance to respond.

Preston could almost hear the gentle, lilting Irish tones of his wife's voice in Rosie's words. Of course he knew that Rosie was right, his attitude toward the town had embittered him and weighed heavily on his soul, making him feel even more tired and old than he already did. He would have taken a remark like that from his wife, Clara - hell, he would even have taken it from his father without so much as an eyebrow raise of indignation. Still, he wasn't quite ready to hear home truths delivered quite so forcefully, and certainly not from someone he had only known for a few hours. He hadn't asked her to come to Colorado Springs, and he definitely hadn't asked for a character analysis from her.

If only he felt less responsible for her, he would have turfed her onto the street without a second's thought. If only her eyes weren't quite so blue and her smile was less inviting. He had caught himself wondering how soft her lips would feel against his and what her kiss would taste like at least six times during the evening and couldn't help but feel a little guilty about it. Preston's track record with women wasn't exactly a successful one, he couldn't afford to start having feelings for a new one, and especially not one as opinionated as the one stood before him. The only thing he could do was what he had succeeded in doing with the entire town - do everything in his power not to endear himself to her. It would be safest for everyone concerned. Especially him.

"There's a spare room here. If you want it, it's yours. If not, I'm sure there are far more comfortable rooms available in Colorado Springs with people whose attitidues are more agreeable to your standards," he answered, coldly. Rather than reacting with a shout of consternation or an equally frosty comeback, Rosie just raised her left eyebrow and curled the right side of her mouth into a grin.

"You know, if you learned to stop taking yourself so seriously, you'd probably be quite agreeable to my standards too," she said. She picked her case up from where she had set it down by Preston's front door. "Are you going to tell me where I can put this?" she asked.

"Mrs Brown, it's a good job for both of us I was raised by a gentleman, or I may have given you a less than delicate answer to that question," he answered, his tone grim but his eyes glinting. She chuckled. "Follow me," he said, taking the case from her and jogging up the stairs.

Rosie's room was about a third of the size of Preston's room, and quite bare as it only contained a small bed, with a three-drawer chest against the opposite wall and a wash basin in the corner. Originally, Preston had intended it to be a room for any guests that might visit, but his evening with Rosie had involved the most social contact he had had in almost two years. Rosie couldn't see at the time, of course, but the view from the window was a beautiful panorama of the forest with the mountains in the distance.

"It's... cosy," she said, looking around the room. "And clean," she added, running her fingertips along the top of the wooden chest and examining them.

"I'm a big boy, Rosie, I know how to keep house," he answered with a grin. He carefully set Rosie's case on the floor next to the bed. "I leave at five tomorrow morning. I'll be away for a few days," he explained.

"What do you do?" she asked, frowning. He paused.

"Whatever I'm paid to do," he answered. Her eyes widened.

"That sounds ominous!"

"It's nothing illegal," he assured her with a slight chuckle. "I just don't like talking about it." As if to demonstrate his point, he promptly changed the subject. "I'll be home on Wednesday. I'm sorry I won't be able to show you around town but perhaps that's for the best."

"I'm a big girl, Preston - I can take care of myself," she said. He held her gaze for a couple of moments too long and nodded his head once.

"I can believe that."

Rosie felt her cheeks flush and the room empty of all available oxygen as she became self-conscious of the fact they were alone together. It had been so long since she had been alone with a man, let alone one that she found so attractive and intriguing, that she scarcely knew whether or not she could trust herself to act appropriately. Whatever 'appropriately' actually meant in this situation, anyway. She had come to town to be married to him, he had turned her down flat but she had still ended up moving in with him, albeit temporarily. She had no idea what their relationship was supposed to be classified as.

"I'm a little tired," she said, her voice cracking slightly. Preston nodded and bit his lower lip, unsure of what else to say.

"I, umm... usually have a nightcap around now, if you'd care for one?" he offered. She shook her head.

"It's been a long day, I don't think I'll need much help falling asleep," she answered. He blinked once, slowly, an almost imperceptible smile flickering at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, goodnight then, Rosie," he said. "I hope you're comfortable here. And, uhm... welcome to Colorado Springs," he added, his smile widening gently at her. She smiled warmly back at him.

"Thank you," she said, not much louder than a whisper. Preston slowly walked away to head back downstairs. "Preston?" she began. He turned and looked expectantly at her. "Umm... sweet dreams," she said, swallowing hard and looking back at the floor. His lips pinched into a wry grin.

"You too," he said, closing the door behind him and climbing down the stairs. He poured himself a large glass of bourbon and took a deep swig before heaving a heavy sigh. "So much for staying aloof," he muttered to himself, almost angrily.

When Rosie woke up the next morning, Preston had long since left for work. She spent a while unpacking, stacking her beloved collection of books neatly and alphabetically on top of the wooden chest in her room, and generally familiarising herself with the layout of the house, which didn't take long. The house wasn't especially large, but still seemed more fitted to an average-sized family than just one man. She presumed that perhaps Preston had once harboured aspirations of marriage and children, and those plans had somehow never come to fruition.

Rosie was still exhausted and sore from her journey the previous day, and as she had nowhere to go and nobody to see, she decided to stay in the house and recover for the whole day. She reasoned that in the absence of her being able to go anywhere physically, she may as well get lost in a book and travel to the ends of the world in her imagination. There were few books on Preston's bookshelves, aside from an exhaustive collection of twenty-five cent cowboy books. She chuckled to herself as she scanned through the titles. Preston really didn't seem like the sort of man who would spend his time reading cowboy stories, but nonetheless, the books had all clearly been read multiple times and were well-loved.

She pulled the most worn-looking one from the shelf and read the title - _Lonesome's Revenge_. Reading the back cover, she saw that the story revolved around a man who had lost his wife several years earlier at the hands of an outlaw gang and then had dedicated his life to meting out his revenge on the men who had taken her from him. She frowned. It seemed like a rather heavy story for someone to read so regularly. She wished he was there so that she could ask him about it, but she decided to read the book herself - perhaps something in there would help her to understand his personality a little better. He was evidently trying to hide himself behind a cold, unfeeling persona - and she could tell this because he wasn't very good at doing it. There were frequent flashes of his true personality that shone through to her - friendly, confident, a little flirtatious - but it was as though he kept remembering that he wasn't supposed to be that person any more, and he closed up again as soon as he realised what he was doing. Something must have happened to him to make him so afraid to just be himself, and this thought made her feel strangely sorry for him. She shrugged and shook her head. There would be time to get to know him better in the coming weeks and months. At that moment, Rosie's priority was to relax, recuperate and then focus on finding a job and a place to live.

The story, she was pleased to discover, was well-written and exciting. Rosie found herself utterly engrossed in the world created by the author. The protagonist was dark, brooding and broken after the trauma of losing his wife in such a brutal way - the strong imagery of the brutal attack on the poor woman by the gang of outlaws would stay with Rosie for a long time. Although he did finally get the justice and vengeance he craved, his actions didn't bring him peace and the story almost ended with him alone and having little left to live for. Fortunately, he realised in the last chapter that he had been in love with the daughter of a local farmer for at least the final third of the story - although Rosie had suspected they liked each other somewhere during the first third - and the story eventually ended on a happy note.

Rosie let out a contented sigh as she closed the book and wiped a few tears away. She had been so lost in the story that she hadn't realised how late in the afternoon it was. After carefully replacing the book on the bookshelf, she busied herself in the kitchen to prepare a light supper.

A rapid tapping on the door startled her, and, after smoothing her hair back and rolling her sleeves back down, she opened the door very slightly.

"Can I help you?" she asked. At the door stood an attractive woman, who looked to be a little older than Rosie herself was, with long auburn hair that she hadn't turned up and a long brown coat over her dress. Rosie couldn't remember seeing her in town before, but only really remembered meeting Grace and Preston.

"Hello. my name's Michaela," she began. Rosie frowned slightly.

"I'm afraid Mr Lodge isn't here, he's away on business for a few days," she answered. Michaela nodded.

"I know, I actually came to see you. Rosie, isn't it?" she said, her smile slightly guilty and embarrassed. Rosie looked confused as she nodded.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked.

"Hank, the owner of the hotel in town, overheard Preston say you could stay with him last night," she explained. Rosie raised an eyebrow.

"I see," she answered, carefully. "Well, Mrs, umm-"

"Doctor. Doctor Quinn. Everyone calls me Doctor Mike," she explained. Rosie smiled slightly and nodded once.

"Would you like to come in? I was just about to make some coffee," she said, quite untruthfully. Michaela hesitated for a moment. "Please. I don't bite. Besides, if I'm going to be staying in Colorado Springs, I'm going to need to start making some friends," she said, stepping aside. Michaela smiled gratefully and walked into the front parlour.

"Where does Preston work?" she asked, looking around the room. Rosie shrugged.

"I don't know," she answered. "Last night he said that he wouldn't be home until Wednesday and he left before I woke up."

"Oh," Michaela answered. She paused, unsure of how best to phrase all the questions on her mind. Rosie looked at her curiously.

"Just ask. I haven't got anything to hide," Rosie said, reaching out a hand and squeezing Michaela's shoulder briefly.

"How do you know Preston?" she asked, following Rosie into the kitchen and watching her open cupboards to find where the coffee was kept.

"I don't, really. I was given his name by his father, and Preston was told to meet me at the station. We only met for the first time yesterday," she said carelessly, busying herself with measuring out coffee grinds and putting the water on the stove to boil. Michaela's eyes widened in surprise at Rosie's words.

"Oh! So you're a... you're an, umm..." she said, faltering.

"I'm just a girl from back east looking for a new life. I doubt there's much difference between our motives for moving out here. You don't exactly sound like you're local," Rosie pointed out, opening more cupboards to locate the coffee cups.

"No, I'm from Boston, just like Preston," she said. "Where are you from?" she asked.

"Philadelphia," Rosie said. Michaela's face lit up.

"My daughter lives in Philadelphia!" she said, eagerly. Rosie beamed at her.

"Really?" she asked, interested. It was the first connection she'd discovered with her roots and suddenly felt a lot less like a fish out of water just by meeting someone who knew where Philadelphia was.

"Yes, she studies at the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania. Her husband has a small practice near the College," she explained.

"I lived right by the College! I used to teach at a school nearby. What's your daughter's name, perhaps I know her?" Rosie asked.

"Colleen Cooper-Cook," Michaela answered. Rosie let out a shout of delight.

"Colleen and Andrew!" she exclaimed. Michaela nodded, excitedly. "Oh they are such a sweet couple! We became friends soon after she started at the College," she explained. "I didn't realise she was from here. Andrew just said they were from a small town somewhere near Denver, I didn't make the connection at all!"

"They're coming to visit next week. You and Preston should come for supper one night!" Michaela offered, wincing internally as she realised the invitation would mean Sully, Preston and Andrew all being in the same room at the same time. The thought of the ensuing tension gave her a vague feeling of indigestion. Almost to her relief, Rosie shook her head.

"I'd love that. I can't speak for Preston. We don't have the same social schedule at all. I certainly won't be here by the time he gets back," she said. Michaela frowned.

"Why not?" she asked.

"I need a place of my own to live and somewhere to work," Rosie said.

"But, I thought you two-" Michaela began, breaking off suddenly as she realised that she wasn't too sure what exactly the actual relationship was between Rosie and Preston. Rosie shook her head.

"The situation here isn't what I expected, but that isn't a real problem. I came here to change my life. That plan hasn't changed," she said.

"What about Preston?" Michaela asked.

"What about him?" Rosie answered with a shrug. "He seems very nice but very troubled. He isn't ready for anyone in his life, and really, I don't know if I'm ready for anyone in mine. I make my own future, I learned a long time ago not to depend on or look to other people for my happiness, Dr Mike," she said, her facial expression hardening as a sorrowful look filled her eyes. There was a slightly uncomfortable pause as Rosie gathered her thoughts together.

"If there's anything I can do to help, I'd be glad to," Michaela told her with a reassuring smile. Rosie smiled gratefully.

"I think the coffee's almost ready," she answered with a grin.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

News of Rosie's arrival soon spread through the town like wildfire. She had arrived in town on Friday afternoon and by the time Sunday morning came and she had made her way down to the Church, she felt at least a hundred pairs of eyes on her. Ordinarily she would have waited for a week or so to attend Church, if at all. However, Michaela had already invited her to a picnic after the sermon, and the offer of free food and new company was far too tempting for Rosie to resist. The whole town would be there, she was told. Rosie didn't know whether she should be scared or excited and was subsequently a little of each.

She had survived the Church sermon with very little interaction with anyone, and had only been introduced to Michaela's husband, Sully, and her two sons, the very precocious and confident Brian and the more shy, serious Matthew, who Rosie presumed was roughly her own age. She had already heard stories about Matthew and Brian from Colleen while she was in Philadelphia and so felt as though she already knew them a little. Michaela's daughter, Katie, had taken an instant shine to Rosie and proceeded to spend the entire sermon climbing onto and sliding off Rosie's lap, and playing with the locket around Rosie's neck. Michaela looked mortified and had apologised, but Rosie was delighted. For the first time in - no, she couldn't remember how long it had been - but she started to feel as though she was welcome in a group of people. Perhaps she didn't truly belong, but people were cordial and pleasant, and that was more than enough for her.

The sun shone brightly in the late May afternoon, and the sounds of children laughing and playing a game of baseball filled the air, as did the smells of the food everyone had brought with them. Rosie had never seen such a happy crowd of people and she felt as though if she made any sound or if anyone noticed her watching the scene, she would break the spell and the magic would end.

Matthew noticed Rosie sitting at the edge of the crowd, smiling contentedly as she watched the scene before her. He took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair before making his way over to her.

"I guess these ain't like the parties you're used to back east," he began with a friendly smile. Rosie shook her head.

"Not at all. People look as though they're actually enjoying themselves here!" she answered. They both laughed and Matthew settled himself down onto the grass beside her.

"What made you come to Colorado Springs?" he asked. She looked at him.

"What does everyone else say?"

"That isn't what I asked," he answered with a slow smile. She grinned at him.

"Ah!" she said, with a knowing look. "So they have been talking."

"You're a new face in town, everyone's interested."

"That's very thoughtful of them," she said, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "As a matter of fact, I came to Colorado Springs to look for work."

"What sort of work do you do?" he asked.

"I'm a teacher."

"That's a shame."

"You don't approve of the profession?" Rosie asked, frowning. Matthew shook his head quickly and blushed a little.

"No, I didn't mean that! I just meant that we have a local schoolteacher already, Mrs Slicker. I don't know if there are enough children for two teachers. Maybe you could ask her?" he suggested. She nodded.

"I'll look forward to meeting her," she said. "I'm not afraid of hard work though, I'm happy to do any work. I have a little money saved so it's not desperately urgent that I find something today - if anything, I need to find a place to live first!"

"Dr Mike said you're staying with Preston?" he asked. At the mention of Preston's name, the general chit-chat around Matthew and Rosie ceased. Rosie noted the sudden change in atmosphere but ignored it.

"Temporarily," she said. "He's working away so his house is empty, he said I could stay until he came back."

"His house, indeed!" a woman remarked with a derisive snort. Rosie looked at her.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You ask that Charlatan! You ask him who has the moral ownership of that house! It isn't him!" she shouted, her face turning red with righteous indignation. Rosie frowned. "You tell him Mrs Peterson asked you to tell you!" the woman insisted, her eyes blazing furiously. Rosie blinked a few times.

"That's where I'm staying for a few days until I find somewhere else," she answered, calmly. "I don't know anything about who owns the house."

"I heard her say that his father had sent her to marry him!" Horace chipped in. Rosie raised her eyebrows but didn't get chance to reply as she was drowned out by a chorus of gasps.

"Marry him?" an older man piped up with a chuckle. "A nice girl like you don't want to get tied down to a man like him!"

"Loren!" Michaela began, thoroughly embarrassed on Rosie's behalf.

"What makes you say I'm a nice girl? How do you know?" Rosie asked, interested. Loren flustered, opened and closed his mouth four or five times, but found he had no words at his disposal to make any sort of reply.

"We're just saying you should be careful, Rosie. He can be very charming and even kind to a point, but he's not to be trusted," Matthew told her. "All of us have learned that the hard way at one time or another."

"I certainly appreciate your concern," Rosie said. "Do you think my life is in danger with him? Is he violent? Is he a heavy drinker?"

"Oh no! Not at all, nothing like that," Michaela answered in a reassuring voice. "He's just not the easiest of men to deal with."

"Well, I daresay I'm not the easiest of women to deal with," Rosie said with a wicked grin. "Besides, neither of us have the slightest intention of marrying each other."

"You don't?" Matthew asked, frowning. Rosie shook her head.

"I told you. I'm looking for work and I'm looking for a place to live," she said. "I'm sure I figure in Mr Lodge's future plans about as much as he figures in mine. All I know about him is that he was kind enough to give me a place to stay when nobody else did. Where I come from, that's the action of a friend - and I don't like it when people insult my friends."

"Nobody's saying anything to you that we wouldn't say to him," Loren told her in a sullen tone, finally finding his voice again.

Not wishing to simultaneously make enemies of the entire town, Rosie decided that the best thing to do would be to change the subject altogether before she had to hear any more about the mysterious Mr Lodge, a man whom she had only spent a few hours with and knew very little of.

"Is there any cake left?" she asked Michaela. Michaela grinned and handed a plate over to her. Rosie shovelled a large forkful into her mouth and let out a small moan of delight as she ate. "Do you know, this is by far the best cake I've tasted all day!" she said with a wink. To her abject relief, everyone laughed.

Fortunately, the rest of the afternoon and early evening wore on in a very pleasant manner. Rosie managed to spend a few minutes with almost everyone, including Theresa Moralez-Slicker, the local schoolteacher. She was very sympathetic with Rosie's plight and explained how her move to Colorado Springs was immediately followed by the untimely and tragic death of her husband. Although the town had been a little suspicious of her at first, as she had been of them, Theresa had quickly found that the townsfolk were generally kind and friendly, and held a strong spirit of community. She had promised to ask her husband, Jake, to help Rosie find some work in the coming few weeks, and had also invited her for dinner the following Sunday.

Rosie came home late that night, absolutely exhausted but feeling a lot more confident about her future in Colorado Springs. She had made it clear that she wasn't going to allow anyone's opinion to influence her own - so the people knew what to expect of her. However, she had also been given an opportunity to see what she could expect of them, and with people in town like Michaela, Theresa and Matthew, she felt confident that she could soon develop some strong friendships to make her transition to life in a new town a lot more enjoyable and successful.

She didn't need Preston to marry her, or to even give her a moment's acknowledgement. She didn't need anyone in her life, she was more than capable of taking care of herself.

Rosie shivered involuntarily and rubbed her hands over her arms as she hugged herself. Those thoughts somehow made her feel lonely rather than independent, which was a wholly foreign sensation to her. The thing that surprised her the most, however, was that even though she barely knew him, she found herself missing Preston's presence so much that she could almost feel the ache in her heart. As soon as the thought came into her head she let out a furious growl and shook her head vigorously.

"Stuff and nonsense," she grumbled, almost angry with herself.

Preston was exhausted as he rode toward the house late on Wednesday night. It had been a long day - a long five days, in fact. He was covered in grime and sweat, and his eyelids were so heavy he couldn't be sure that he'd been completely awake for the entire duration of the ride home. The thought of finally going back to his own home and slipping between the sheets of his own bed before drifting into a solid, dreamless sleep was the only thing that had kept him going over the previous few days.

He saw the light in the parlour from a distance and couldn't help but smile broadly. Rosie had obviously waited up for him to return. He was right, it was nice to see a light in the window when he came home. It wasn't a sight he had been used to for far too many years, but one he thought would be all to easy to become dependent upon.

"This isn't going to end well," he warned himself as he dismounted his horse. He made sure the horse was stabled, watered and fed before going back into the house.

Rosie let out a brief shriek, as she hadn't expected the door to open quite so abruptly.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said a little guiltily, as he took his coat off and draped it over a chair. She shook her head.

"You didn't," she answered. She couldn't help but stare at the way his shirt was half-buttoned and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His arms looked strong, as though they had been developed over years of hard work. His clothes and skin were covered in a film of dust and grime, and dirty streaks stained his face. She suddenly felt rather warm and decided to open a window as she could tell her cheeks and neck were reddening.

"So, you're back," Rosie said, nonchalantly. He nodded and dropped his hat onto the table.

"I said I'd be back by Wednesday," he reminded her.

"That you did. I made some supper. It's not much but I guessed you'd be hungry by the time you got back, and it's not easy to just cook for one," she said, pointing towards the kitchen where she had prepared a simple stew. Preston sniffed the air and smiled. It smelled better than anything he was capable of cooking for himself - not that that was a particular achievement in and of itself.

"Thank you. You didn't have to," he said shyly, running a hand through his hair. Rosie decided to head into the kitchen before he unwittingly did something else that made her forget what day it was.

"I know," she said, ladling some stew into a bowl. "It's only a little stew," she added, cutting two thick slices of bread and placing the food on the table.

"It smells delicious. Thank you," he said, sincerely, squeezing her shoulder before sitting down at the place she had set for him.

Preston ate in silence as Rosie busied herself with cleaning up her own supper dishes and wiping down the counters in the kitchen. After she had finished, she walked back into the parlour to find him polishing off the remnants of the stew with a large slice of bread. He ate ravenously, as though it was the first meal he had eaten all week.

"How was work?" she asked, eventually. He shrugged.

"Hard."

"Really?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. He nodded once.

"Yep."

Rosie didn't reply for a few moments, picked a book from the bookshelf and settled herself down in a chair to read.

"Do you enjoy your work?" she asked, absently. He looked up at her.

"It's okay."

"That's what a petulant child says about school," she answered. He chuckled.

"You have quite a way with words," he said, shaking his head.

"So I'm told," she said. "If you and I are going to be friends, it might help if we know a little about each other." Preston looked at her.

"Friends?"

"Everybody needs friends, Preston," she said, smiling gently at him. "Even you."

"Perhaps," he said, slightly embarrassed. There was an awkward pause as he tried to think of something to say, and by the time he looked up at Rosie she appeared to be engrossed in her book. "Do you read a lot?" he asked. She nodded.

"As often as I can," she said. "I love books. More than people, sometimes." The right side of his mouth twitched into a lop-sided smile.

"Have you ever written anything?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I feel writing is a profession for true artists. I'm just an enthusiast. I teach English. Or, at least, I taught English back home," she said.

"I like reading. I never used to, but... well... I got into the habit," he said, clearing his throat before taking a swig of water.

"I saw your cowboy books," she said. He grinned.

"I like cowboy books best. No matter how bad things are, justice always wins out in the end. I find them quite a comfort," he explained. She nodded.

"I see," she answered. "Gives you a reason to keep going, right? That's what books are supposed to do, I think. I guess the genre is pretty irrelevant, different stories touch people in different ways," she said.

"I guess so," he answered, not sure he was quite equipped for a deep discussion on literature after such a long and exhausting week at work. She put the book down next to her and looked at him.

"Preston?"

"Yes?" he asked, looking up at her.

"What do you do for work?" she asked. He blushed and looked away.

"I work in a zinc mine," he said. "I can't get work anywhere else. I'm bankrupt."

"Could your father not help you?" she asked. He let out a snort of derision.

"I have never taken a cent from my father that I haven't earned, and it's a habit I intend to never develop," he said, bitterly. "All I have is this place, which... oh, it's a long story. But I have it, and it's mine." Rosie chose to ignore the memory of a very angry Mrs Peterson, who seemed most disturbed by the fact Preston lived in the house at all.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of in doing an honest day's manual work," she told him. He shook his head.

"That's easy for you to say. You're not a Lodge," he pointed out.

"Oh, that's been made very clear to me already, believe me," she answered, a little sharply. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at her outburst. "'You're not what we were hoping for, of course, but nevertheless, the boy can't afford to be picky,'" she said in a surprisingly accurate imitation of Preston Lodge Senior. Preston Junior gasped in horror.

"He didn't?" he asked, thoroughly ashamed on behalf of his father. She shrugged. "And you still came out here?"

"I guess I couldn't afford to be picky, either," she said, quietly.

"I'm so sorry, Rosie. I hope you don't think it's an opinion that I share," he said, his eyes apologetic and sorrowful. She looked at him sharply, visibly a little hurt.

"You just turned me down flat," she reminded him. He blushed.

"That wasn't because of you. It was because of me."

"You don't have to explain yourself," she said, shaking her head. "Besides, according to the townsfolk, I probably don't want to know your reasons for anything you do!"

"Ah, I take it they told you what a benevolent humanitarian I am?" he asked, sarcastically. She let out a shout of laughter.

"Absolutely not!" she answered, her giggles getting more helpless as she remembered some of the things people had said to her. Preston couldn't help but let out a throaty chuckle at her mirthful expression. Her cheeks glowed pink and her eyes shone as she laughed, a few loose strands of hair tumbling over her eyes.

"I did try to warn you," he said, his convulsions of laughter intermittent as he found her laughter too contagious to resist. "Why are you laughing?"

"I don't know!" she said, gasping for breath as her laughter increased. Preston couldn't stop himself from laughing along with her.

"You won't leave, will you?" he asked, suddenly becoming serious and looked a little agitated. She looked at him, puzzled, yet still unable to control her giggles fully.

"Leave? Preston, it's late at night and I don't have anywhere to go!"

"You don't need to go anywhere. You can stay. If you want to. It's just I... it's nice. Having someone to talk to. Laugh with."

"That's very kind of you. I'd like that. Thank you," she said, smiling gratefully at him.

"I'm not proud of the things I've done, Rosie. But I can't change them," he told her, seriously. She swallowed hard before meeting his gaze.

"We've all done things we aren't proud of."

"Really?" Preston asked, interested. She blushed and looked away.

"Me just as much, if not more, than anyone else," she said, nodding. Preston's eyes widened.

"I knew you had a story to tell!" he declared, his eyes gleaming wickedly. She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly.

"Perhaps one day I'll tell you. It's late, I should be going to bed," she decided, standing up and walking over to the bookcase to replace her book. As she passed him, Preston grabbed her wrist.

"You can't leave it like that," he said, looking up at her with pleading, puppy-dog eyes. She sighed.

"I... really didn't have much choice in leaving Philadelphia," she said, looking uncomfortable.

"What happened?"

"I was fired from my job," she said. He frowned.

"Surely that wouldn't necessitate a move quite so drastic as the one you made," he answered. She winced and blushed bright red. "What were you fired for?"

"I was caught," she said, looking increasingly awkward by the moment. His eyes sparkled as his curiosity whirred into overdrive.

"Doing what?"

"Something I shouldn't have been doing."

"Stealing?"

"No. I, uhm... was less than discreet with the Assistant Principal," she answered, cringing visibly. Preston's jaw dropped and his instant reaction was to burst out into fits of uncontrollable laughter. "His wife wasn't very happy."

"I can imagine!"

"I didn't love him. I don't know what came over me or what I was thinking, it's not the sort of person I am. I'm very happy with my own company and I certainly don't make a habit of flirting with anyone. He was just a very kind, sweet man and I... I was lonely, I guess. It had been so long since George had died and I missed... I don't know," she said, breaking off with a helpless shrug.

"I think what you missed is a little obvious, Rosie," he said, wiggling his eyebrows and pinching his lips into a wry grin. She blushed again and chuckled.

"No, it wasn't just that. I missed having someone there, someone to put their arms about me, someone making me feel wanted. Have you never missed the feeling of someone's lips on yours? Looking across at an empty pillow and feeling unbearably cold and miserable all over?" she asked. Preston's face fell and his entire body stiffened as though he had been shot. He met Rosie's gaze with a pained expression.

"Yes. I do know what that's like," he said, not much louder than a whisper. She smiled ruefully.

"Well. That's what happened. I couldn't get work anywhere else, because there was an inevitable scandal. So I thought I'd move far away, where nobody knows me. Make a fresh start," she said. "It's not the done thing for a woman to seduce a man, I know. But, there. I guess that's what I did."

"It's not unknown," Preston answered, smiling slightly as he thought of Clara. He had thought of her more over the preceding six days than he had done in years. "You know, if he cared about you or his wife, he wouldn't have acted the way he did. He had a choice," he said. She shrugged.

"I suppose so," she agreed, vaguely. She rubbed her hands over her face and yawned, before looking back at him with heavy eyes. "It's really late. I should go to bed," she said, nodding firmly. "Goodnight, Preston."

"You sure you won't have a nightcap?" he offered. She smiled and shook her head.

"No, thank you," she said, patting him gently on the shoulder as she walked away from him. "Maybe some other time."

"I'd like that," he answered, smiling up at her. "Goodnight, Rosie."

"Goodnight, Preston."

He heard her footsteps going up the stairs and he slumped back in his chair. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to relieve some of the tension that had built up. He closed his eyes and heaved a tired sigh.

Rosie had somehow, almost accidentally, made herself a regular feature in his life, one he didn't think he was ready for. Preston didn't know what he could do to change the situation. He was surprised and almost enraged to discover that even if he could just send her away and forget all about her, he didn't want to.

"Idiot," he scolded himself.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Preston and Rosie quickly settled into their unconventional routine together. Preston worked from Saturday to Wednesday, he left at five o'clock on a Saturday morning and came home around ten o'clock on a Wednesday evening. On Wednesdays they would sit up and talk until the small hours of the following morning as Preston ate the supper that Rosie had prepared for him and they discussed the events of their days apart, together with any plans they had for their 'midweek weekend', as they called it. Preston invariably remained at the house, finding odd jobs to occupy his time in the home or in the gardens. They enjoyed spending time together, it had been quite some time since either of them had known anyone else with whom they could speak so freely and with no trace of self-consciousness.

Rosie sometimes watched him work outside from her vantage point next to the kitchen window. He would spend time grooming his horse or mending a fence panel, and she would watch the way the concentration pervaded his facial features, how entirely caught up in the moment he was, the way his hands were so large and cumbersome yet his touch appeared gentle and firm. Very occasionally, she allowed her mind to wander for a few moments and imagine how his firm, gentle hands would feel as they ran over the contours of her body in a passionate embrace. There was no harm in a little daydream, she decided. After all, they were both available, unattached adults over the age of twenty-one. Besides, she told herself - nobody had a right to censor her own thoughts. She would never dream of actually attempting more familiar physical contact with him than an occasional squeeze of the arm or pat of the shoulder. She liked the way his arms felt under her touch. His shoulders were broad and strong and he seemed to carry the weight of the world on one, and an almighty chip on the other. She couldn't deny that she was strongly attracted to him, but she definitely didn't have the mental capacity to take on all the emotional turmoil he obviously came equipped with. No, she was more than content to look and not touch. Touching often ruined perfectly good friendships, as she'd learned to her detriment in Philadelphia.

Rosie had been unofficially adopted by the Sully family, although she avoided conversation and eye contact with Sully himself as much as she could. She didn't dislike him, far from it, she admired him greatly. Still, she found that there was something very intimidating about his presence, the way his piercing blue eyes drank in every detail of everything around him, missing absolutely nothing - yet he spoke very little. Rosie wasn't used to people who didn't speak their minds. She had no doubt that Sully was a good man. She knew that he would always do anything to help someone in need, and he wasn't stand-offish or unwelcoming in any way. He often smiled quietly to himself as he watched his family laugh and joke around him - occasionally adding to the conversation with a dry quip or a pearl of wisdom, but still she found herself hopelessly tongue-tied and a little scared every time she found herself in the same room as him. It wasn't a feeling she liked. Luckily, Michaela, Brian and Matthew all filled the air around Sully's heavy silences well enough so that she always felt comfortable with them.

One Wednesday evening, about four months after Rosie had arrived in town, Andrew and Colleen had come to stay with Michaela and Sully for two weeks, and Rosie had been invited for supper. She relished the opportunity to catch up with her old friends from Philadelphia, to hear the latest gossip, to hear which new plays had opened and to generally find out how Andrew and Colleen were enjoying their lives. They appeared to be more in love every time she saw them, which for any lesser couple would have been more than a little nauseating, but Andrew and Colleen were so all-encompassing with their love for each other that everyone else they came into contact with felt happier just by being with them.

Matthew, however, was having issues of his own where the realms of Love were concerned.

"She don't even know I'm alive!" he groaned. "Am I gonna be seventy years old and still be every woman's best friend?"

"I'm sure she does know you're alive, Matthew, don't exaggerate," Rosie said, helpfully. "An intelligent, articulate, good-looking man like you, you should be fighting them off!" Matthew let out a shout of scornful laughter.

"Psh! Nope!" he answered, flatly. Colleen chuckled.

"Who is this girl, anyway? I'm sure I've never heard of her," she asked.

"She's new. Moved to town a couple weeks after Rosie," Matthew said. "Emily Clayton. Think she's from back east. Most of the townsfolk seem to be from back east now! Why can't we get a girl from Georgia or somewhere once in a while?" he lamented. Rosie frowned.

"What's she like? Does she carry herself like a lady from back east? Does she seem a little stand-offish?" she asked. Matthew shrugged.

"We've spoken a few times. She's polite and friendly an' all, but... I dunno. It's like there could be somethin' there but... I dunno," he said. Colleen and Rosie exchanged knowing glances.

"You're definitely sure about her being polite and friendly?" Rosie asked. Matthew nodded. "She laughs at your jokes?" she asked. Matthew nodded again.

"Well, she must definitely like you, Matthew - your jokes are terrible!" Andrew said, looking a little worried. Everyone laughed good-naturedly.

"You really think she likes me?" Matthew asked, hopefully. "I kinda wanted to invite her to the Harvest Dance next week, but-"

"No. You shouldn't do that," Rosie insisted, shaking her head. "Then you'll make her think you're interested." Matthew frowned, completely confused.

"But I am interested, that's what I've been tellin' ya."

"Exactly. That's why you shouldn't ask her. You'll make yourself available. She can have you, so she won't want you," she explained. Matthew's frown deepened. "Trust me. You need to make her jealous, so she'll want what she can't have."

"That's ridiculous!"

"I think I know more about being a woman from back east than you do, Matthew," Rosie pointed out. Matthew found that he couldn't argue with her.

"So what do I do?"

"Why don't you and I go with Andrew and Colleen?" she suggested.

"What if it doesn't work?" he asked.

"Then you get to spend a lovely evening dancing with the second prettiest Philadelphia girl in town!" she answered with a playful nudge. He laughed and nodded his agreement.

"That's if Preston will let you go," Matthew pointed out. Andrew's face fell at the mention of Preston's name and Rosie saw Colleen squeeze his arm reassuringly. She frowned but didn't mention anything.

"Preston is my landlord, he has no say in where I go or with whom," she answered. "Besides, I'm quite sure the whole town has decided that we have illicit trysts every night at his house anyway, it'll be fun to confuse them a little when I turn up with you on my arm. They won't know what to gossip about first!" she added, giggling to herself at the thought. Colleen grinned.

"You do love to cause gossip, don't you?" she asked. Rosie shook her head with a chuckle.

"People love to gossip," she said, carelessly. "Sometimes I just think they need someone to come and spice things up a little so they've got something really juicy to gossip about. The boring truth of the matter is often irrelevant. Nobody cares that I see Preston for a grand total of approximately fifteen hours a week, or that even when he is home we're so busy doing our own things that we hardly see each other. To their mind, I'm living in the same house as a man I'm not married to and that's all they need to know."

"Preston's not a stranger to gossip, either," Andrew said, quietly, his expression mournful. Rosie looked at him and didn't quite know how to reply. She looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was eight o'clock.

"He'll be home just after ten, I'd best go," she said. Matthew looked at her.

"I thought you said -"

"We've fallen into a habit of spending Wednesday nights talking," she explained. Colleen and Matthew exchanged a glance.

"Talking?" Colleen repeated, grinning mischievously. Rosie rolled her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. We're just friends!" she protested. "It wouldn't do to never speak to the person you share a house with." Matthew couldn't help but laugh.

"Just friends!" he repeated. "For an intelligent woman, Rosie, you don't know much about men!" he chuckled. She shook her head dismissively.

"Stuff and nonsense!" she grumbled, standing up. Just as she stood up, Sully walked into the room.

"Andrew, I got them designs for the clinic," he said, gruffly. Andrew nodded and went over to look at the papers Sully held in his hand. Colleen and Rosie looked at each other.

"Why don't you come back to Preston's with me?" Rosie suggested. "It's been so long since I've seen you, I'm not ready to say goodbye yet!" Colleen nodded her agreement and the two women said their goodbyes to the men before heading back to Preston's house.

They talked loudly and happily together in the kitchen as they busied themselves tidying the house before Preston arrived home. Rosie made them a large mug of cocoa each and they sat at the table, telling each other about all of their adventures since they had last seen each other, including many details they would never have shared in front of Andrew and Matthew.

They had almost forgotten that Preston was coming home and both were startled when he burst through the door just after ten o'clock, right on schedule.

"Oh! I'm... I'm sorry, I didn't realise," he began, flustering as he looked at Colleen. Colleen smiled politely and stood up.

"No, I'm sorry, Preston. I didn't realise what the time was. I should go," she said, picking up her bonnet from the table.

"No, no!" Preston and Rosie said in unison. "Please stay," Rosie said, squeezing Colleen's arm. Preston nodded.

"Please don't leave on my account," he said. "Are you well?" he asked. "How are your medical studies progressing?" Colleen nodded.

"Quite well, thank you," she said. "As a matter of fact, I've only got one academic year left to go, I should officially graduate in May."

"Congratulations, Colleen. No doubt you've worked very hard," he said, a genuine smile taking over his face. Rosie couldn't help but notice the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled. "And how, umm... how... How is Andrew?" he asked, his smile fading and his expression becoming more wistful and melancholy. Rosie's brow furrowed slightly as she could see how difficult it was for Preston to talk about Andrew. Colleen smiled sympathetically at him before answering.

"He's doin' real well. He stayed at the homestead to talk with Sully. Sully's gonna come to Philadelphia and help build our clinic," she explained. Preston beamed at her.

"Business is good for him, then?" he asked. She nodded. "I'm... I'm so pleased for you both. Truly," he said, warmly. "I always knew that Andrew was destined for great things." Rosie smiled softly at him, her heart aching for him. She had never seen him so genuinely happy to hear about anyone else's news or good fortune since she had known him. Whatever had happened between him and Andrew must have really hurt him. It was a shame. Andrew had never mentioned any special friendships in Colorado Springs, but he had seemed to go very quiet at the mention of Preston's name earlier.

"Thank you, Preston. Really, thank you," Colleen answered, sincerely. She hesitated for a moment before squeezing his forearm softly. "He talks of you often, I'm sure he'd want me to pass on his regards." Preston's eyes lit up as though someone had just handed him the seven wonders of the world for Christmas.

"Thank you," he said, visibly choked with emotion. "If, if you'll excuse me, Colleen, I... I've had a long ride home and I'm-"

"I understand. It was nice to see you again," she said.

"I'll show you out," Rosie offered, opening the door for her. They walked outside and as soon as Rosie knew she was out of Preston's earshot, she turned to Colleen. "What was that about?"

"Preston and Andrew used to be real good friends here, pretty much inseparable. Preston helped Andrew a lot when he was just startin' out here, gave him his own clinic and all, best equipment money could buy - you know Preston!" she explained, smiling at the memory. Rosie frowned. The Preston she knew could barely afford to eat at Grace's. She couldn't even imagine him insisting on having the best anything that money could buy.

"What happened?" Rosie asked. Colleen shrugged.

"I dunno... I guess - lookin' back I guess Preston must've known for a while about the financial problems. He took things out on Andrew a lot. Andrew's the sweetest man I've ever known, but there are limits. In the end, when we decided to get married, he quit his job with Preston at the hotel. Preston didn't even seem to care. He didn't come to the wedding, and the last thing Andrew said to Preston was that he wouldn't work for him any more," she said. Rosie sighed.

"I swear, that man is his own worst enemy," she muttered, shaking her head. Colleen nodded once in agreement. "It was lovely to see you, Colleen. It's been so long since we went to a dance together, before all the... unpleasantness in Philadelphia," she said. Colleen looked at her sympathetically. "Don't look at me like that. It was my own fault. It's done and in the past now. I'll see you on Friday," she said, shaking her head dismissively. Collen smiled and hugged her tightly.

"I hope you're happy in Colorado Springs," she said. Rosie smiled widely at her and waved until Colleen was out of eyeshot. Taking a deep breath and rubbing her hands over her arms to warm herself a little, she took a moment to look at the night sky before going back inside. Preston was sat at the table, cheerfully ploughing through his supper.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your evening," he said after swallowing a slightly too large mouthful of food with some effort. Rosie shook her head.

"You didn't. I'd actually been to Michaela and Sully's house for dinner and had already spent quite a few hours with Colleen and Andrew," she said. Preston looked up at her.

"Andrew's here too?" he asked. She nodded. "Is he... how is he?"

"He's doing fine. Married life definitely suits him," she said. He smiled contentedly.

"I remember when he and Colleen met. I don't think there's ever been anyone else for either of them," he said, a slightly saddened look in his eyes as he remembered happier times. "How long are they staying for?" he asked.

"Two weeks. They're very excited about going to the Harvest Dance on Friday. You should come too, it might be fun," she said, casually. Preston let out a snort of laughter.

"Me? At a dance?" he said, disbelievingly. Rosie looked at him, straight faced.

"Yes. You know, a frivolous gathering with people and food and drink and, well... dancing."

"I'm aware of the concept," he answered, dryly.

"Would you like to go?"

"Not for a million dollars," he said, chuckling as he shook his head and took another large mouthful of food. Rosie frowned, not put off by his contemptuous expression.

"Why not?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to one side. Preston looked up at her and took a long drink of water before replying.

"For one thing, I'm quite sure I'm not invited," he said. She raised an eyebrow.

"Not invited? It's an invitation to the Colorado Springs Town Dance, is it not?" she asked. He paused for a moment.

"Yes."

"You're a resident of Colorado Springs, are you not?"

"Well, I-"

"Are you not?" she pressed. He shrugged and nodded.

"I am."

"Well then. You're invited."

"In that case, I should like to decline," he said, nodding firmly. "I don't dance." Rosie looked at him reproachfully but he met her gaze with cold determination. She sighed and shook her head, throwing her hands briefly up in the air in defeat.

"Fine. I'll give you a full report when I get back," she answered, heading towards the kitchen. He sat back in his chair and looked at her walking away from him, trying his hardest not to look at the way her back narrowed into her waist and how a few errant strands of her framed her neck and shoulders.

"You can't go alone," he said. She stopped what she was doing and turned to look at him in surprise.

"Are you telling me what I can and can't do?" she asked, raising both eyebrows and folding her arms. "You've very kindly allowed me to stay here, but let me make it abundantly clear that you have no say or influence in how I conduct my daily affairs."

"I was simply reminding you that societal convention dictates a lady cannot go to a dance alone," he answered, holding his hands up defensively. Rosie jutted her jaw out slightly in derision.

"Lucky for Society then, that I'm neither a lady nor am I going alone. I'm going with Matthew," she said. Preston's eyes widened.

"Matthew Cooper?" he asked in disbelief. "You're going with Matthew Cooper?"

"Do you have any special objection to that?" she asked, trying to convince herself that she was utterly disinterested in his answer.

"Should I?" he asked. Rosie's shoulders dropped and she shook her head. "Enjoy yourself with Matthew. You could do a lot worse for yourself than him."

"That's right. I could," she said, choosing not to explain that she was only going with Matthew to help him win the heart of another girl. It was none of Preston's business, after all. "Andrew and Colleen will be there so we thought we'd go as a four."

"Andrew and Colleen will be there?" he asked. She nodded.

"That's why I suggested you should come. I'm sure Andrew would love to see you," she said. He visibly faltered for a moment before sighing and shaking his head sorrowfully.

"I don't think he would," he said, quietly. "Why did you ask me, if you were already going with Matthew?"

"Because I wanted you to come," she said. "Why should you hide away here on your days off, barely showing your face in town? What do you have to be ashamed of? Have you killed anyone? Have you broken up someone's marriage?"

"Most of the town lost everything because of the Crisis. They still blame me," Preston said. She frowned.

"Preston, I have no doubts of your pedigree as a financier - but one small independent bank in a town like this is not exactly going to make enough of a difference to the American economy for you to be personally responsible for anyone losing any of their money. Surely if you were responsible, you'd have made sure your own money was safe," she pointed out. He pursed his lips and blinked once.

"They don't see it that way."

"Then the problem is their perspective, not your existence," she said, gently. "Don't you think you've suffered enough without making yourself a martyr?"

"Maybe some other time," he said, smiling softly. "But thank you," he added.

She smiled back at him ruefully. From the stories the townsfolk had told her of Preston, he had been a loud, charismatic, proud man who loved to be the centre of everyone's attention. The old Preston would never have recognised the man sat before her, introverted and broken and full of self-loathing. She wished that she could see just a little of the old Preston, the gregarious, charming side - just once.

He finished his meal and took his plate out into the kitchen. When he came back he picked up the book she had left on her chair and turned to her.

"What book are we reading this week?" he asked, turning the book over to read the cover. When he read the title his heart sank so hard and fast that he dropped the book onto the table as if it was burning coal. "Where did you get this?" he demanded, not sure why he suddenly felt so angry. She frowned slightly.

"I got it at a second-hand bookstore in Philadelphia," she said. "It's one of my favourite books."

"You got it second-hand?" he repeated, furiously. "You mean somebody got rid of this like it was nothing?"

"Preston, it's a book. I bought most of my books from the same place," she said, utterly confused. He held the book up to her so she could read the title - _'The Poisoned Rose'_ by Clara Maguire.

"How do you even know about this book?" he asked, not sure whether he wanted to burst into tears or throw the dining table out of the window. Rosie touched his arm gently.

"I don't understand why you're so angry. It isn't even a very well-known book, I don't think the author wrote any more books," she said, soothingly.

"She didn't."

"How do you know? What's so special about this book?" she asked. He faltered for a moment, knowing that he had never spoken about this part of his life to another living soul in almost twenty years. Eventually he hung his head and let out a heavy sigh.

"It was written by my wife," he said, sinking down into his chair. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"I didn't know you were married," she said, quietly. He shook his head.

"My mother is the only other person who ever knew," he answered. She didn't press him any further but waited for him to continue if he so wished. Preston found that now he had seen the book, nothing he could do could physically stop him from relating the entire story to Rosie. He told her how they had met, how he had disowned his entire family to be with her, how every single part of him had loved her with a ferocity he had never known before or since. How he had found her the morning after they were married, having died in her sleep. How ill he had become and how, eventually, he felt the need to escape to California in a vain attempt to try and blot out her memory altogether.

By the time he had finished telling her all about Clara, tears flowed freely down Rosie's cheeks. She had no idea how anyone could keep such a huge part of their life a secret from anyone, and yet at the same time she found she completely understood. Grief was such a private thing, and pity was such a humiliating emotion to accept from people. If her husband hadn't come from such a well-known military family, she would have been able to grieve for him more privately and she knew she would have been able to deal with that a lot more easily than feeling a hundred pairs of eyes on her constantly, waiting for her to break down.

"I'm truly sorry, Preston," she said, wiping her own tears away. "If I'd known for a moment seeing the book was going to cause you so much upset, I would never have re-read it." He shook his head and reached out a hand to squeeze her arm.

"Clara would have been delighted that you enjoy it so much," he told her, sincerely. "I remember her showing me the first copy of the book and telling me that it had secured her immortality. I guess she was right. It's as though now there's still something tangible left of her spirit, of who she really was."

"She was an extremely gifted author. I've enjoyed something different from this book every time I've read it, which is quite an achievement for any writer. Have you read it?" she asked. He shook his head again.

"I... I don't think I could," he answered. "I'd just hear her voice and..." he faltered, his voice cracking too much with emotion for him to continue.

"I do understand how that feels," she said. "It isn't quite the same thing but I had to put all George's letters to me in storage after he died. I couldn't bring myself to throw them away but I don't think I could ever read them again."

He didn't know if it was the emotion of finally speaking about Clara that had overwhelmed him or his exhaustion from a long week at work, but in one movement Preston had got up from his chair, pulled Rosie up from hers and wrapped his arms around her tightly. It had been unexpected but not unwelcome for either of them. They stood in silence for a long few moments, clinging onto each other, feeling the warmth from each other's body, not realising until that moment how badly they both needed to be held, even for just a short time.

Eventually, they pulled away from each other and gazed into each other's eyes wordlessly for a few moments.

"It's late, I should, umm... I should go to bed," he decided, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"No nightcap?" she asked. He smiled and shook his head.

"I don't think I need one tonight, I'm tired enough," he answered. "Please help yourself, though," he added, before heading up the stairs.

"Preston?"

"Yes?" he asked, pausing and turning to face her. She clamped her lips together for a moment before speaking.

"Thank you. For telling me about Clara. I know... I appreciate how difficult it must be to talk about it," she said, sincerely. He smiled fondly at her.

"Thank you. I don't think anyone else would have understood," he answered, turning around and continuing towards his bedroom. She sighed heavily and shook her head.

"I wish I didn't understand," she whispered. She sat down and picked up Clara's book, but she found she couldn't concentrate on it, now she knew exactly who Clara was and how tragic her short life had been. Then she found that she couldn't stop thinking of her husband, of his big brown eyes and his cheeky smile, and of all the hopes and dreams they had built together, which had all been destroyed in an instant by one small bullet.

Before she could stop herself, she broke down into tears and wept bitterly for all the things that both her and Preston had suffered and lost, until she had worn herself out so much that she fell asleep where she sat.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

On Friday evening, Preston sat in his chair, pretending to read. He must have read the same page at least ten times and he was damned if he could actually remember what any of the words on the page were. In reality, he was listening as Rosie got ready for the Harvest Dance. She had locked herself in her room an hour earlier and he heard her footsteps walking to and fro across the room, accompanied by her singing a cheery little tune to herself, utterly careless of how off-pitch she was. He smiled to himself and shook his head.

Eventually he heard her walking down the stairs and turned his head to look at her. She wore a blue dress which somehow managed to exactly match the colour of her eyes, and coupled with the faint smell of cologne that wafted across the room, Preston couldn't remember the last time he had been in such close proximity to such a beautiful woman.

"Will I do?" she asked, looking a little perturbed as she slowly twirled in front of him. "I couldn't quite get my hair right. It's my first dance in Colorado Springs, I wanted to make a good impression."

Preston gazed upon her, aching with every fibre of his being to hold her to him, creasing her dress and mussing up her hair as he kissed her the way he hadn't kissed any woman in more years than he could care to remember. Instead he cleared his throat, swallowed hard and pursed his lips slightly.

"Yes, I believe you'll do," he replied. She frowned, not sure that she felt quite reassured by his words. "You look lovely." She beamed at him.

"Thank you."

Before either of them had chance to say anything else, there was a knock at the door. Preston's face fell in despair as Rosie began to walk away from him to open it. He kept his back to her as he tried desperately to regain his composure.

"That'll be Matthew," Rosie said, hurriedly. Preston instinctively grabbed her arm as she passed him, and she looked at his hand before looking up at him in confusion.

"You don't have to go with him," he said. She frowned.

"Don't be silly, of course I do," she answered. He released his grasp on her arm and hung his head. He straightened his back as he heard the door open. "Matthew!" Rosie said, happily, stepping aside and bidding him entrance to the house.

"Rosie! You look beautiful," Matthew said, grinning widely at her. Preston felt his heckles rising but scolded himself to calm down. Of course she looked beautiful. Matthew was only human. At least Matthew had the courage to say it to her face. Preston had no right to be jealous. He was the one who had refused her in the first place, after all.

"Matthew," he said, cordially, nodding his head. Matthew nodded in return.

"Preston," he answered. "Not seen you in town for a while."

"Unfortunately, work keeps me away most of the week," Preston said. Matthew nodded. "You'll be sure to take care of Rosie," he added. It wasn't a question. Rosie raised both her eyebrows.

"Preston, I'm more than capable of looking after myself, I don't need Matthew to protect me," she said.

"Of course," he answered. "Have a good time," he added, ushering her out of the house. Matthew turned to follow her but Preston pushed him into the door frame, his hand flat against Matthew's chest.

"Preston!" Matthew began, surprised. Preston leaned in dangerously close to Matthew before speaking in a low, menacing tone into his ear.

"If you hurt her, if you so much as make that girl frown - make no mistake about it, I will come looking for you and you won't like it when I find you," he growled.

"Is that a threat?" Matthew asked. Preston pulled away, released his grip on Matthew and patted him on the shoulder, smiling broadly at him.

"Not at all, just something for you to bear in mind," he answered. "Have fun."

Preston watched the carriage drive away, only just making out Andrew's outline from where he sat with Colleen and Rosie. Closing the door, he heaved a heavy sigh.

He didn't know why he had insisted that he would stay at home. What did he care if he got strange looks and hostile comments from the townsfolk? That was almost all he'd received from them since he'd moved into town. Rosie and Preston were both well aware of what the gossip about them might be amongst the residents of Colorado Springs, and the fact that they weren't attending the dance together would throw the townsfolk into even more confusion. Rosie had told him with a naughty giggle how much she relished the thought of their abject confusion as she walked out with Matthew on her arm. Preston had chuckled as well at the thought of certain faces in particular.

Instead, Rosie was on her way to the dance and Preston was alone in the house, which seemed empty and bereft without her presence. He sat in his chair and thought for a few minutes. All he could hear was Rosie's voice telling him that she wanted him to go. She had told him that, he remembered her saying it.

Sometimes, when he looked at her, he wished that he was rich again, if only to give her whatever her heart desired. Attending a dance and feeling uncomfortable in front of the townsfolk wouldn't cost him anything aside from a little pride. Besides, she had made a valid point, he had just as much right to attend as anyone else in Colorado Springs.

He raced upstairs and flung open his wardrobe, searching for his finest suit.

"Faint heart never won fair lady," he muttered to himself.

An hour later, he arrived in the town, feeling ridiculous and awkward, but knowing that as soon as he saw Rosie, he would feel better about the whole situation. He touched his hat, smiled and nodded to a few people as he passed them, and picked up a tall drink from a nearby tray. He was quite pleased to discover it was gin and lemonade. After taking a large swig, he closed his eyes and sighed contentedly as he felt the alcohol hit the sweet spot at the back of his head, quickly soothing his nerves and calming his trembling fingers. He was still Preston A Lodge III. He couldn't let anyone see that he was nervous.

He opened his eyes and found himself looking into a pair of large and very familiar blue eyes. His heart leapt with joy and his smile broadened so much that his face hurt.

"Andrew!" he exclaimed, not sure whether to shake his hand or hug him and deciding to do neither.

"Preston," Andrew replied as he returned the smile, unsure whether to hug him or punch him and deciding to do neither.

"I... Rosie said she had seen you. Are... are you well?" he asked. Andrew nodded curtly.

"Quite well, thank you. And you?" he asked, his shoulders dropping slightly. Preston nodded.

"Yes, quite well. I hear business is going well for you," he said. Andrew nodded. "That is splendid news. Your success is no doubt well-deserved."

"That's... that's very generous of you to say so, thank you," Andrew replied, a little bemused. He wasn't sure what he had expected of any reunion with Preston, but he certainly hadn't expected him to be so different.

"Not at all," Preston answered, waving his free hand dismissively as he took another nerve-calming swig of his drink. They stood quietly together for a few moments, looking around awkwardly. "It's been a while since I attended a dance."

"I seem to recall they weren't your favourite things," Andrew replied with a grin. Preston let out a breath of laughter and shook his head.

"You don't know what a relief it's been to not have to turn up to these things to impress clients," he admitted. Andrew chuckled.

"Matthew and Rosie are having a good time," he commented, pointing over to them. "It's nice to see them happy." Preston's heart sank at the inference that Matthew and Rosie were to be considered as a unit.

"Rosie's a very charming woman, she deserves to be happy," Preston agreed. Andrew looked up at him.

"Matthew's a very decent man," he added. Preston didn't reply immediately but nodded vaguely.

"He is that," he said.

"They've both suffered at a young age, losing someone they love. I'm sure Rosie's told you about her husband," Andrew said. Preston nodded again.

"She's one of those refreshing people who doesn't see the need to hide anything," he said. "I daresay I've learned something of that from her since she's been staying with me."

"It's good of you to give her a home," Andrew said. Preston looked down at him and smiled softly.

"I'm not an ogre, Andrew. I couldn't see a woman on the streets," he said.

They stood beside each other, watching the dancing. Colleen and Brian had tripped over each other several times and were now giggling too much to stand up straight. Andrew couldn't help but laugh at the spectacle they made of themselves. Sometimes he didn't think he could possibly love Colleen any more than he did, but then she would do something clumsy and ridiculous and utterly silly and he could feel his heart swelling with even more love for her.

Added to his happiness at that moment was the fact that he was stood beside the man he had once called, in his heart at least, his best friend. He never thought that they would be in that position again.

"What happened?" Andrew asked, looking up at him with sad, large eyes. "Why did we stop being friends?" Preston met his gaze and shook his head.

"I don't know."

"You... you didn't even come to my wedding," Andrew reminded him. Preston looked away, shamefaced. "You must have known what an important day that was? How long it took me to tell Colleen how I feel about her, how Michaela was against us getting married before she went to medical school. I needed a friend. I needed you, Preston. You weren't there for me."

"I didn't think I'd be welcome," Preston said, truthfully. "I didn't want to cause any upset on your big day."

"I was more upset that you didn't come at all."

"I'm sorry, Andrew. Truly I am," he said, sincerely. "You are... you were the closest thing to a real friend I ever had."

"I _was_ a real friend!" Andrew said forcefully, his blue eyes gleaming with righteous indignation. "I thought friendship worked both ways."

"It should have done," Preston agreed. "I don't have very many regrets about my life. I've done some questionable things, most of them in the name of business - but... but if I could take anything back over the last few years, I would restore our friendship in a heartbeat."

"It... What if it's too late?" Andrew asked. Preston sighed and shook his head.

"I rather fear that it was too late a long time ago," he answered, sadly. He downed the rest of his drink, nodded to Andrew and walked away. Andrew hung his head morosely and let out a heavy sigh. Before he had chance to grow too maudlin, he felt a small hand slip into his own.

"This is a dance, Andrew - you can't be sad at a dance," Colleen told him. Andrew looked down at her and smiled ruefully. "That's a little better," she said. He laughed awkwardly and looked at the floor for a moment before looking slowly up at her, the way they both knew made her stomach turn somersaults and forget which day of the week it was.

"I've been at this dance for an hour and a half now and I haven't asked the most beautiful woman in the room to dance with me yet," he told her, clasping his fingers together loosely as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She grinned at him and blushed slightly. "Would you happen to know where she is so I can ask her?" Colleen let out a shout of mock horror and slapped him lightly on the chest as he giggled.

"You're lucky you have such a handsome face, Dr Cook!" she told him with a chuckle, resting her head on his chest and holding him close to her. He smiled contentedly and rested his chin on top of her head as he enveloped her in a tight embrace.

Preston watched the way Rosie and Matthew danced together, their eyes shining, laughing together and having a generally wonderful time. Rosie had quickly settled into life in Colorado Springs, and Preston was all too aware that his absence from the house meant that she had to find other means of amusing herself. She needed to make her own connections in the town. Stand on her own two feet. It was good for her, Preston thought. She had come to him under the supposition that she would have to become, to an extent, dependent upon a man she barely knew. After even a short acquaintance with her, he knew that she would have soon grown to resent him if they had pursued a relationship and he had, in any way, made her feel as though she was dependent on or beholden to him.

Allowing her the freedom to grow as a woman and assert her independence was the only way she was ever going to succeed in building the new life for herself that she had craved. Preston simply wished that he had tried harder to be a bigger part of that life. As he watched her dance with Matthew, he couldn't help but feel that his last chance for happiness had passed him by.

He didn't have any issue with Matthew. In fact, very deep down, he quite liked him. Admired his honesty, his straightforwardness, his love of justice and fairness. Of everybody in town, Matthew was the only one Preston could think of who seemed to be able to remain objective about other people. He had even stood up to Sully when the occasion called for it. Preston knew that Matthew would never hurt Rosie, he didn't even know why he had brought the subject up earlier. He just wished that he could be the one dancing with Rosie, not Matthew.

He continued watching closely as a vivacious brunette sashayed over to Matthew and Rosie. Preston didn't recognise her and presumed that she must be new in town. After a few moments' discussion, Matthew nodded politely to Rosie and took the dark-haired woman by the hand, leaving Rosie alone on the dance floor. Preston was surprised to note that she didn't look remotely disappointed that Matthew had just left her. If anything, she looked delighted and, if he wasn't mistaken, quite proud. He had no idea what possessed him, but he found himself walking towards her and offering her his hand.

"Preston!" she exclaimed, a little confused but mostly delighted to see him. "I didn't think you were coming?" she asked, taking a brief moment to admire how handsome he looked in his suit.

"I am a Colorado Springs resident, am I not?" he asked, grinning cheekily at her. She beamed at him.

"That you are," she said. He didn't let his outstretched hand drop and she looked at it briefly, before looking up at him.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked. She frowned again.

"I thought you said you couldn't dance?"

"I said I didn't, not that I couldn't," he answered, his cheeks dimpling as he smiled, his eyes gleaming wickedly. She felt her stomach turning over and her cheeks reddening under his gaze.

"Oh. That's different, then," she answered, taking hold of his hand and allowing him to lead her to the floor.

They stood facing each other, and Preston put his arm firmly around her waist, pulling her tightly towards him. She caught her breath as she felt his body pressing against her. He felt her heart pounding against him and hoped that she wouldn't be able to feel the beating of his own heart. As the music started they looked into each other's eyes and started dancing. They quickly forgot that anyone else was there, only being aware of each other's all-encompassing presence. Rosie found herself pressing ever closer into Preston's body, almost ashamed of how much she loved the feel of him next to her. He continued to tighten his grip around her waist, his lips burning with a desire to kiss her that was almost impossible to resist. The air seemed to be filled with the scent of their cologne and the sound of their hearts beating together - so much so that they could barely hear the music any longer.

They were both suddenly aware of someone laughing next to them and they stopped and looked around, surprised to discover that the music had actually stopped quite some time earlier. They blushed bright red and laughed loudly.

"This is why I don't dance!" he said, giggling, "I can never remember when I'm supposed to stop!" Neither could look at each other without starting to laugh all over again. "No wonder you went with Matthew!"

"Oh stuff and nonsense, Preston! I only went with him to help him get a girl!" she said, pushing his arm playfully. He frowned.

"You did?" he asked. "I thought you two-"

"Oh heavens, no!" she answered, shaking her head vigorously. "It's just a well-known fact that the fastest way to a woman's heart is to make her jealous."

"Is that so?" he asked, his eyes glinting and a wolfish grin taking over his face. She bit her lower lip shyly and gazed at him for a few moments before replying.

"Most women," she answered, coyly. He beamed at her, not wishing to tell her that the approach had, inadvertently, also worked very well on one man in particular.

"Rosie," Dorothy called out, scurrying over to her. Preston and Rosie exchanged a rueful glance at the interruption but turned to face Dorothy with welcoming smiles on their faces. "Preston," Dorothy said, nodding cordially at him. Preston briefly raised an eyebrow at Dorothy and smiled winningly at her.

"Dorothy, you're looking as beautiful as ever," he said. She couldn't help but grin.

"Still full of the old charm, I see," she answered. Preston winked at her.

"It comes naturally with some people," he said, his smile not fading. No matter how long he'd spent apart from Dorothy, he felt the same sense of childish delight in teasing her as he always had done. Dorothy shook her head, trying her hardest not to laugh and encourage him. As much as he had got under her skin and annoyed her and as much as they had clashed and argued over the years, she couldn't help but find the incorrigible, teasing side of his personality rather amusing. Of course, he was never to know that. Instead, she turned her attention to Rosie.

"Rosie, are you still lookin' for a job?" she asked.

"I'm almost at the end of my savings so I'm quite desperate, yes," she answered. Dorothy beamed at her.

"I hear you're an English teacher," she said. Rosie nodded. "I need a proofreader at the Gazette. I've got Brian and me writin' articles an' we've just started acceptin' contributions from other townsfolk. Their grammar ain't always what it should be," she said. "We need someone to keep everything together, make sure it reads right, and join the contributor team. What do you say?" she asked. Rosie hesitated.

"I'm no writer," she said. Dorothy shook her head.

"You don't need to be, you just need to be good at English."

"It sounds like it'd be perfect for you, Rosie. You know how much you love reading," Preston pointed out. Dorothy and Rosie looked up at him. "Besides, how do you know you're not a writer unless you try?" he asked. Dorothy and Rosie exchanged a glance, Rosie's bemused and Dorothy's expectant. In the end Rosie could think of no valid argument to refuse Dorothy's offer.

"When do I start?" she asked. Dorothy grabbed both her hands and squeezed them.

"Nine o'clock on Monday," she answered. Rosie hugged her and promised she would be there early. As Dorothy walked away, Rosie squeezed Preston's arm affectionately.

"Thanks for pushing me. I don't think I'd have been brave enough to have said yes otherwise," she said. Preston smiled.

"I'm glad I came then," he answered, squeezing her hand. "I think this calls for a celebratory drink," he decided, escorting her over to where the drinks were kept.

Just after eleven o'clock, Preston and Rosie arrived back at the house, feeling a little weary from all the smiling, dancing and polite chit-chat, but neither of them were quite tired enough to sleep. If they were entirely honest, they'd both had at least one too many gin and lemonades and, mixed with the night air, had made them both terribly giggly and silly during the journey home. Rosie, for once, agreed to a nightcap and Preston poured them a large bourbon out each.

"Are you glad you went to the dance?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink. He nodded once, but his expression wasn't very sure of his response.

"It was pleasant enough," he said, deciding upon the most diplomatic answer as he lowered himself into his armchair. He closed his eyes briefly and moved his neck from side to side until it clicked. "I'm getting too old for frivolity," he joked. She chuckled.

"Did you speak to Andrew?" she asked. He nodded again. "Is... everything all right?"

"I don't think things will ever be all right between us again," Preston said, sadly. "I let him down badly." She perched on the arm of his chair and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

"You don't know that. Andrew's a very sweet man, if there is any affection left between the two of you then I'm sure you have a chance of rebuilding your friendship," she told him. He didn't look up at her but shrugged in resignation.

"I feel as though I've gone wrong so many times, I don't even know if there is a way back," he said. "All I wanted after the Crisis was to get my Resort back. I didn't even care about my bank, I just wanted the Resort back and I wanted Andrew running my clinic."

"How about now?" she asked, gently.

"Now?" He paused and sighed before draining his glass in one gulp. "I just want to be able to sleep at night without remembering all the things I've done, things that have cost people more than money. I... People used to say to me, 'I hope you can sleep at night!' and you know - I slept like a child every night. Until the Crisis. Now I realise exactly what I've done, I'm in the same position that a lot of other people were in and I didn't... I didn't know. I didn't understand what I was doing. To me it was only money, but to them it was something as crucial and intangible as air. I wish I didn't know how that felt, but I do, and I hate it. I don't know... perhaps it's no less than I deserve."

"Do you really believe that?" she asked, tilting her head and frowning slightly. He sighed.

"I can't see another explanation," he muttered, his expression so full of regret and remorse that Rosie could feel tears burning at the back of her eyes. She knelt beside Preston and took hold of his hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Listen to me. I don't know what you've done in the past, but I do know that if you really are as awful as you would have yourself believe, you would have rolled over and died when the Crisis hit. You haven't. You've fought just to keep going. You get up every morning and you work damned hard for whatever money you get. You showed backbone and determination, and you have proven to yourself time and again that when you put your mind to something you succeed. Look at how you built a life for yourself in Colorado Springs - and then built another when your circumstances changed," she said, eagerly.

His facial expression didn't change, he didn't attempt to interrupt her or argue with her, so she continued. "Sometimes, Preston... sometimes bad things happen. Nobody deserves them, nobody can do anything to avoid them. They just happen. The real show of a man is how he reacts to these situations. You've kept your head down and you've worked hard, and one day I just know you'll get your Resort back, if that's what you still want. But first, the thing you need to concentrate on is getting your friendship with Andrew back. Because that is worth more than any building or any job."

"Do you really think I can?" he asked, looking at her with large, hopeful eyes and for a moment he looked for all the world like a lost little boy. Rosie felt her heart melt as she returned his gaze. She leaned closer to him and cupped his face in her hands gently.

"If I know both of you as well as I think I do, it won't be nearly as hard as you imagine," she answered, smiling fondly at him. He smiled back at her before their eyes locked.

Neither of them seemed to make the first move, but they kissed very softly for a few moments. They pulled away slightly, looking apologetically at each other for the briefest of instants before Preston pulled Rosie closer to him, kissing her deeply. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap, running his hands over her back and thighs as he kissed her neck, responding to her involuntary gentle moans of pleasure as his hands continued to explore her body. Rosie bit her lip, her eyes blurring as she wrapped her arms more tightly around him, running her fingers through his hair, as though she needed to feel every last inch of his body next to hers as crucially as she needed air to live.

"Rosie," he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire and his lips brushing gently against her skin as he spoke. He felt her tremble beneath his touch and, smirking to himself, repeated her name.

"Yes?" she whispered, letting out a whimper as his lips continued to lay a trail of kisses along her collarbone and further down her chest.

"Stay with me."


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

**Colorado Springs**

Rosie woke up alone the following morning. She knew that she would, of course. Preston had left at five o'clock as usual, and one night together wasn't going to change his routine. She hadn't expected it to.

By all rights, she should have been ashamed of both herself and Preston. It went without saying that their actions had been wholly inappropriate. They weren't married, there was no question that they ever would be married. She hadn't left a scandal behind to promptly get herself involved with another scandal. All she had wanted to do was move to a new town and start again. He had told her almost as soon as he met her that he wasn't interested in having a new wife, and they had settled into a comfortable routine together of landlord and lodger. Why did he have to go and spoil things like that?

She thought for a moment of Mr Glassbrook, the assistant principal of the school she had taught in back east. She pulled the bedclothes up around her chin as his face came into focus in her mind's eye. Their relationship had been too personal of a friendship for far too long, and in hindsight it was fortunate for both of them that someone had walked in on them before they really had gone too far. In the end, the fact that they hadn't actually performed the act was largely irrelevant. The intent and desire had been there, and for a few moments' pleasure she found that her entire world had come crashing down around her ears. Nothing had changed for Mr Glassbrook. He was still married to his wife, who had been hailed as a veritable saint by all who knew of the story, and his position at the school was unaltered. In fact the rumour was that he had even been given a salary increase.

It didn't seem fair somehow. Rosie had been a good teacher, she had been happy in her work. She had been as happy as she could be in her home, with the ghosts and memories of the past following her around. She had slept in her marital bed alone every night, wishing for so many years that a mistake had been made and George wasn't really dead, that he would open the bedroom door at that moment, explain that it had all been a big misunderstanding, take her in his arms and make love to her as he had done so many times before. Now her home belonged to someone else, another couple slept in her bed and she was only a memory to Philadelphia.

If that was what had happened to her after a few stolen kisses in her employer's office, she dreaded to think what she was likely to lose after what she had done with Preston.

Her thoughts now filled with him as she glanced up at the clock. Just after nine o'clock. He would already be in the mine now, working hard, probably trying to forget what had happened the previous night. The small of her back and her neck ached and as she sat up and examined herself she could already see small fingerprint-shaped bruises forming around her breasts and thighs. She blushed violently as she remembered how forceful and vigorous they had been together at first, and giggled with embarrassment when she remembered him whispering "ladies first" to her just before she came the first time, followed shortly by him. They had gone on twice more until, exhausted, they eventually lay together silently, listening to each other breathing, his head on her chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her as she stroked his hair softly, her legs lazily wrapped around his waist. If she thought hard enough she could almost feel the weight of his body on top of hers and the thought alone made her head swim with delight.

She lay back down and rested her head on his pillow, turning her face into it so she could breathe in his scent that remained. She drifted back to sleep, clutching his pillow against her body, and finally woke properly almost an hour later. She had never slept in so late in her life.

When she had argued with herself and forced herself to get out of bed, she took the bedclothes with her and determined to clean them. After all, she reasoned, if she removed all trace of what had happened between them, she could easily forget and move on with her life. She drew a cold bath for herself and lowered herself into it, hoping that would somehow quell the fire that still burned between her legs. She shivered as she lowered herself fully into the bathtub, letting out a small squeal when she felt how cold the water was against her legs. She immersed her shoulders beneath the water, closed her eyes and sighed as she felt herself cool down everywhere.

If only she could get the taste of his kiss from her still tingling lips and out of her mind, everything would soon be back to normal. She took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut and ducked her head underwater, as if the action would somehow cleanse her memories, too.

When she could hold her breath no longer, she resurfaced, gasping for air. She wiped the excess water from her face and rested her head against the back of the bathtub.

"You've really done it this time, Rosalind," she scolded herself.

She had already wasted her morning, her mind so full of Preston that she could barely even see straight. There was so much to do in the house and so much to prepare over the weekend for her first day in her new job that she had no time to sit around and mope any further. With a cry of horror, she remembered that she had invited Colleen and Michaela over for lunch that afternoon before Colleen and Andrew returned home, and that they would be there within an hour. She quickly dressed and started frantically preparing a meal.

Without considering the matter for too long, Rosie decided that she couldn't love Preston. There was no way in the world she could possibly love him. She had been in love once, and that had been with her husband. Love, she had been led to believe, only really came around once in a lifetime - and even that was only if one was very lucky. She wasn't an especially romantic woman, she was sensible and pragmatic. Life had to go on, and she no longer felt any moral attachment to the memory of her husband. Nevertheless, Rosie had loved George with all of her heart, and she felt she would never love anyone again in that way. Not even Preston.

It simply wouldn't do for her to fall in love with him. Besides, he had already refused her once. She had come to Colorado Springs, viewing a marriage to him as a sort of business arrangement. Both needed some stability in their lives and both needed some companionship. They would have learned to get along as they had done anyway, it wouldn't have been a blissful marriage but it wouldn't have been desperately unhappy. However, he had refused the proposal outright, and she didn't think he had much reason to retract his original decision, even after what had happened the night before.

As she began to prepare the vegetables for lunch, her thoughts unexpectedly filled once more with Preston, imagining him grabbing her from behind in a tight embrace and kissing her neck passionately. She gasped and blushed bright red as she shook her head to get the image out of her head.

"Stuff and nonsense," she grumbled as she continued to chop vegetables, slightly more vigorously than before.

Michaela and Colleen arrived a little late that afternoon, which Rosie was most grateful for. She tried to concentrate on their conversation, but her mind kept wandering to thoughts of the night before and wondering how Preston was faring that morning at the mine, and if he missed her. Not that he would miss her, of course. She had taken such a back seat during the conversation that she didn't really pay a great deal of attention when Michaela or Colleen attempted to involve her.

"-do you think so, Rosie?" Michaela asked.

"Yes, yes. Absolutely," Rosie answered, not too sure what she'd just agreed to. When she saw Michaela and Colleen's confused frowns, she realised that she had just made a terrible faux pas.

"Really?" Michaela asked, her frown deepening. Rosie blushed.

"I'm sorry, Michaela, I'm afraid I didn't quite hear you," she said, choosing honesty over any further attempts to cover up for herself, knowing any such attempt would only make matters worse.

"I hope you don't mind me saying, Rosie, but you've been very distracted since we got here - is everything all right?" Michaela asked. Rosie nodded.

"Absolutely. I'm sorry, I've been a dreadful hostess," she said. "Can I get you more cordial?"

"No, we're fine, but you don't look well. You seem a little flushed," Michaela said, leaning across to Rosie and feeling her forehead with the back of her hand. "At least you've no fever, so that's reassuring. I'm a little worried about you though, you don't quite seem yourself."

"Honestly, I'm perfectly all right. I just had a late night last night and Preston..." Rosie found that she couldn't continue her sentence after saying his name.

"What about Preston?" Colleen asked, concerned. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," Rosie answered. "I just, uh... It's nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing to me," Michaela said, patting Rosie's hand reassuringly. "We're your friends, Rosie - you know you can tell us anything."

"I told you, it's nothing," Rosie answered, shaking her head briskly. "It's all fine. We just had a little too much gin and lemonade last night and stayed up too late." None of her explanation had been a lie. Colleen frowned and tilted her head slightly as she looked at Rosie.

"Did something happen between the two of you?" she asked. Rosie looked sharply at her.

"What do you mean?"

Michaela and Colleen shared a knowing look and couldn't help but giggle at Rosie's flustered expression.

"Something did happen!" Colleen declared. "What is it? He didn't... Did he... Preston didn't kiss you, did he?"

Rosie paused for a moment before blushing so red she could feel heat radiating from her face. It would never have even come up into her mind to tell them he'd done far more than just kiss her. Her friends beamed at her and tried their hardest not to laugh, with very limited success.

"I must say, I'm not exactly surprised," Michaela said, when she had stopped chuckling. Rosie frowned slightly.

"You aren't?"

"No, I saw the way he was looking at you last night - and the way you both looked at each other when you were dancing together. You were both so happy, I've never seen Preston look that way at anyone," she said. "If anything, I think the biggest surprise is that it took you both so long in the first place!"

"I'm quite sure it was just the excitement of the evening and the gin. It won't happen again," Rosie said, briskly. Michaela and Colleen both looked at her disbelievingly. "What?"

"Just the excitement of the evening?" Colleen asked, her eyes twinkling with mirth. Rosie shrugged.

"I don't see what's so difficult to believe about that. I'm sure there's medical research to prove that sometimes people do stupid things in the heat of the moment. That's why it's called 'the heat of the moment'!" she protested.

"It must have been quite some moment, Rosie, you're still blushing!" Colleen pointed out. Rosie sighed.

"Well, he's away for five days now. Plenty of time for both of us to forget it ever happened," she said. Her tone was confident but her doubtful expression was matched by both Michaela and Colleen.

**Leadville**

Leaving Rosie behind had been the most difficult thing Preston had forced himself to do in years. He had slept soundly and was so comfortable he would have gladly stayed in her embrace for several more hours. He had no idea how he had actually managed to arrive at the mine without getting hopelessly lost on the way, as he had taken absolutely no notice of the path that his horse had taken him on. The only thoughts occupying his mind were the memories of the previous night.

It didn't take very long for him to start feeling guilty about their actions. Preston knew that the guilt he felt was not his own, but rather displaced from Society's expectations of the interpersonal relationships between unmarried men and women. Convention told him that what had happened the previous night was wrong, that he had no place to take a woman into his bed before he married her.

He thought about Rosie, how she would feel upon waking up in an empty bed. He hoped she would understand that his absence was not indicative of his feelings for her. Had it been a day or two earlier, he would have stayed with her for as long as she wanted him to, his hands and lips caressing every inch of her body until she begged him to take her again. Biting his lip and blushing slightly at the thought, he remembered the way she had whispered his name and the groans of delight she had made as he had entered her.

She had wanted him. For the first time in more years than he cared to remember, someone had actually wanted him to be there. Someone had actually wanted, needed, begged for him to stay, to not leave. He had forgotten entirely how it felt to be wanted. Not even in the context that Rosie had wanted him, just in a general sense that his mere existence did not cause offence to another living soul. She had clung to him so tightly, told him how good he was, how beautiful he was, how she didn't want him to go. That almost felt as good to him as the act itself.

Convention, he thought defiantly, could go to hell.

As usual, he arrived at the mine just after eight o'clock. Most of the men were exhausted from their weekends or just their bodies' inability to cope with long travelling hours combined with ungodly early starts. His lack of conversation was attributed to a lack of sleep and a shortage of coffee on site.

If Preston had ever had any problems during his adult life, his usual way of working them out was to work hard, leaving him so exhausted that he didn't have the energy to worry about anything else. Upon arriving at the mine, he determined that he would simply work out his frustration at not being able to physically be with Rosie - although he knew that whatever was left of his heart had remained with her. He refused to allow himself to believe that perhaps she would help to mend the damage that had already been done to his heart, and he couldn't even dare to hope that she would let him do the same for her, as much as he longed to do anything he could to make her happy.

He focussed so hard on his work that he barely noticed the time flying by, and he didn't even hear the bell ringing to signal a well-earned lunch break.

"Hey! Silver Spoon!" an older man shouted, causing Preston to rouse from his reverie.

"Sorry, did I miss something?" he asked. 'Silver Spoon' had been his nickname since he had started work in the mine, due to his well-educated and privileged background. The name had started as a disparaging slur, and Preston had been made aware in no uncertain terms that just because he came from money, there was now no difference between him and any other mine worker.

Rather than the new, unfamiliar situation making Preston feel intimidated, he had felt a huge sense of relief that he could conduct his daily business - finally free of the stresses and constrictions associated with being a Lodge. Over the ensuing two years he had kept his head down, pulled his weight and allowed his work to speak for him, so that now 'Silver Spoon' was used as a term of endearment by the older men who viewed him as something of a surrogate son or nephew.

"You've barely said two words all morning, boy," the man said to him, taking his helmet off and wiping the sweat from his brow as he sat on a nearby rock.

"Is it lunchtime already?" Preston asked, wondering where the time had gone to. Frank nodded and handed him a sandwich with his grubby hands. Preston took it from him and ate greedily, not realising how hungry he was until he started eating.

"Slow down, son, you're gonna make yourself sick!" Frank advised with a chuckle. Preston rolled his eyes and smiled good-naturedly.

"Only one reason a man's quiet all day and eats like a horse!" a man named John said. Preston looked at him sharply but didn't say anything.

"That's true, Johnny," Frank agreed, his old blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "Ol' Silver must'a got himself some last night!"

Preston genuinely wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole - which was a wish no self-respecting miner should ever make.

"I, umm, I don't, uh-" he stammered, trying to play dumb but knowing it wouldn't work anyway. Frank and John cackled at the horrified expression on his face.

"Nothin' to be ashamed of, Silver, we're all men - we got needs too!" John told him, clapping him warmly on the shoulder.

"She the little girl moved in with you that almost half-year ago?" Frank asked. Preston closed his eyes and cringed. "She is, ain't she?"

"I'd really rather not-"

"Hey Frank, leave the boy be. These rich types got some sorta issue talkin' about personal stuff!" John said, patting Preston's shoulder comfortingly. Preston smiled gratefully at him. "It ain't none of our business."

"Thank you, John," Preston said.

"Ah, so you did screw her!" John declared, pointing at him triumphantly. Preston blushed a firey red.

"I don't think this is the time or place to discuss-"

"You're embarrassin' the boy, Johnny!" Frank chided him. Preston had now gone far past the point of embarrassment, and could only hope in vain that he was having some sort of bizarre vivid dream.

"Well, shit son, I didn't mean nothin'!" John apologised. "Tell us about your girl, what's her name?"

"She's... she's not my girl, exactly," Preston said, carefully. "Her name's Rosie."

"Rosie," Frank repeated, giving Preston a nod of approval. "That's a pretty name. I had a cousin once, named Rosie. She pretty?"

"She's beautiful," Preston answered, smiling shyly. Frank beamed at him and let out a hoot of laughter.

"I wouldn't have owned it! Ol' Silver Spoon! Never knew you had it in ya, son!" he said, chuckling to himself as he shook his head.

"I think it was Rosie had it in her!" John said, dryly. The older men howled with laughter as Preston rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, wishing he could close his eyes and magically transport himself back to his own living room.

"Thank you, gentlemen. Very amusing," he said, sarcastically.

"Listen, Preston, you wake up in the mornin' piss-proud an' you just keep it to yourself, you hear?" John advised, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Preston let out a groan of shame and buried his face in his hands as Frank and John laughed hysterically at his reaction.

The ensuing days dragged more than usual and all Preston wanted to do was go home and see Rosie. There was too much that had been left unsaid, so many things that needed to be decided between them. Most of all though, he wanted to hold her close to him, feel her arms around him and tell her how much he had missed her.

Eventually Wednesday evening came and, after what felt like an eternity of travelling, he finally saw the light in the parlour window of his house. His heart started to beat faster and his stomach churned with excitement as he urged his horse to quicken his pace. The horse made a valiant attempt to speed up, but unfortunately he was just as tired as Preston himself was and the result was more of a lazy trot than a canter.

Just as he grabbed the door handle to turn it, he stopped himself. What if Rosie had packed her things and had only waited for him to say goodbye? What if she never wanted to see him again, what if she thought he had in any way made her feel obligated to stay with him that night? What if he had been blisfully unaware of how wretched and disgusted with herself she had felt all week, knowing that his hands had touched her, that his lips had been on her body? What if she hated him? What if he had only succeeded in driving her away forever? His face fell and he rubbed his hands over his stubbled jaw, his fingers shaking with nerves.

Eventually, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Rosie?" he called, his voice wavering slightly with anxiety. His face fell as he saw that the room was empty and he felt a sickening feeling inside of him. A few moments later, to his abject relief, he heard footsteps upstairs and within moments Rosie appeared at the top of the stairs. "Umm... I'm back," he said, not too sure what else to say. She smiled softly at him.

"So I see," she answered, trotting down the stairs to greet him. "Did you have a good week?"

"It was slow and hard work, and I'm, umm. I'm glad to be home," he said, the tips of his ears turning pink as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "How, umm, how was your week? Did you start at the Gazette?"

"Yes I did. It's a very busy office, but I'm really enjoying it. And here," she said, opening a dresser drawer and taking out an envelope. "Take this," she offered, handing it to him.

"What is it?"

"It's half my wages. To cover my room and board," she said. He frowned.

"You don't need to-"

"I do," she said, firmly. She caught the flicker of hurt that flashed across his eyes and her expression softened. "If you're going to get your Resort back, you can't afford to have anyone who doesn't pull their weight around here," she explained. He handed the envelope back to her.

"You do enough," he said. She shook her head and put her hands behind her back.

"Nobody can live rent-free, Preston. Take it. I won't take 'no' for an answer," she insisted, her eyes twinkling impishly at him. He smiled gratefully.

"Thank you. I really appreciate it. But please don't think-"

"I don't."

There was an awkward pause for a few moments before Preston cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Rosie, I want to apologise for... for what happened on Saturday," he said. She frowned, confused that he hadn't even mentioned what had happened on Friday. "I shouldn't have left without at least saying goodbye."

"You had to get up at four o'clock, I wouldn't have thanked you for waking me up at that ungodly hour," she replied with a brief grin that quickly disappeared as she continued speaking. "I'm sorry too. For Friday. It should never have happened. I think we should just put the whole experience down to too much merriment and try and move on. If you want me to leave-"

"No!" Preston interrupted, hurriedly. "Don't go. Please. Please stay."

"It won't be awkward?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Rosie, I'm not sorry for what we did. I won't excuse my actions with alcohol or overexcitement or anything else," he told her, firmly. "I've spent the last few months trying to pretend that we could only ever be friends and that I didn't feel any more for you than an obligation of care as a friend. But I was lying. The whole time I was lying, to both of us. I know what happened isn't what two respectable unmarried adults should do, but... forgive me, I can't help how I feel about you."

"Preston, it isn't that," she said. "I don't care what other people think of me. Hell, they already think we've been together this way for months anyway, nobody would be remotely surprised even if they did know."

"What is it? Do you not feel the same way?" he asked. She looked up at him, helplessly.

"I shouldn't feel the same way," she said. "You should be ashamed of yourself. I should be ashamed of myself."

"Why?"

"Because... because it was wrong. How I feel, how you feel - it doesn't matter. Neither of us are in a financial or emotional position to marry, so neither of us can well afford to allow ourselves to develop feelings for each other," she said.

"Isn't it a little late for that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She sighed. "Tell me you had no feelings for me before Friday."

"I can't," she answered, truthfully. "But it doesn't change anything. What happened can't happen again, it was wrong of me to allow my heart to rule my head."

"Was it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She nodded, looking forlornly at him. He held his hand out to her. "Come here," he said. She obeyed him and he took her hands in his. "Does this feel wrong?" he asked, looking deeply into her eyes. She bit her lip and shook her head. He wrapped his arms around her and held her closely to him. "Does this?" he asked, gently.

"No," she answered, not much louder than a whisper. He pulled away slightly, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. "Does that feel wrong?" he asked, his lips still dangerously close to hers. She blinked a few times before shaking her head and clinging more tightly to him as she returned his kiss.

"No."

"Then... then none of this can be wrong. Can it?" he asked. She hesitated. "Please, Rosie. I've lost everything that I've ever cared about. Please don't make me lose you, too. I don't think I could bear it."

"Oh, Preston," she said with a sigh as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. "Part of me wishes I didn't care about you at all."

"What about the other part?" he asked, a little worried.

"The other part doesn't care about anything except you," she said, honestly. He beamed for a moment before frowning.

"Which part's bigger?" he asked, suddenly feeling more worried than ever. She grinned at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Stop talking and kiss me before I change my mind," she insisted.


End file.
